Whisper in My Ear
by ceruleanblues
Summary: AU. Sam Evans has always been searching for answers and Quinn Fabray may or may not just have them.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi there! Alright, so this is my first ever Sam/Quinn (Fabrevans, Quam, however you name it) fanfiction. It's not my very first story, and I usually don't write two stories at once but something just made me want to do this fanfic so bad.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 1**

**Monday, 5.15pm**

**/Sam Evans**

I've been staring at the monitor for approximately two hours, and the glare of the screen was starting to hurt as my eyes begin to water. I'm scrolling through all the e-mails we've received over the weekend, reading each and every one of them with intent, sifting through the more important ones and jotting them down on a notebook. Some are pretty interesting tales of personal experiences and detailed accounts. Others are more desperate, seeking immediate attention and help.

This one that I'm reading right now, it particularly shouts out to me—and it's not because there's an intriguing photo that had been attached. I pick up the discarded pen on the table and scribble down the necessary pointers before clicking on the image icon. The computer gives a sort of hum—given how ancient it is—and the picture finally loads, filling up the entire span of my desktop.

"Whoa," my teammate and best friend, Finn Hudson, whistles from behind me. "That's insane."

I do not answer him. Instead, I squint at the suspicious-looking photograph and try to analyze the pixels. My investigative side kicks in, and I'm questioning its validity, skeptical and wondering if it had been manipulated by any sort of software. It's an image of a living room, most likely taken at night. The surroundings are relatively dark—given that it was lit only by a table lamp beside the sofa—yet the obvious thing that stands out is a hazy outline of something tall at the corner of the room. It looks like a man, an apparition of some sort, and I quickly give the e-mail another read through.

"Wow, Sam," Rachel Berry quips from her desk. "That's a really clear apparition. What's the story behind it?"

I spin around in my swivel chair to face my two comrades, tapping my pen against the armrest. "A baby-sitter. She's been coming over now and then to help a family friend take care of their 1-year-old baby, and she's always felt uncomfortable in the house or she's being watched—paranoia if you will—and recently she thinks she's started seeing shadow figures at the corner of her eyes. Obviously, she'd brought it up to the husband and wife, but they hadn't really believed her. On occasion, she would also feel like she's been touched, or her hair's been tugged, and she hears voices calling her name." I stop to take a breath and then gesture over my shoulder back to the screen. "She took that two nights ago, and now she just doesn't want to go over, but she's also worried for the baby."

"Jesus," Finn murmurs and I nod in agreement.

"Are we taking the case?" Rachel asks, her huge coffee-coloured eyes growing like round saucers. She gets all excited, especially when such cases involve families that need our assistance.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know yet," I answer her. "I still have some more e-mails to go through. Do you know where the Chang-Changs are?"

"Mike's down at the local library to go track down those house records you needed for the South Oak Mansion case," Finn says, ticking it off with his fingers. "And Tina's supposedly down at the student lounge trying to finish up on a report."

"Oh, and Artie's at the store," Rachel adds in. "He's looking through the new catalogue to see if we need anything."

"Will they be back for the meeting?"

"I've texted them exactly ten minutes ago to remind them about it," the Jewish brunette informs me, a wide smile on her lips. It's like her own personal pat on the back.

"Okay, thanks."

I go back to my computer, the photograph still splayed across the screen and minimize it. That way, I won't have to search for it again when the meeting commences. The rest of the e-mails aren't as captivating as that previous one, and I make a point to include a big asterisk right next to the bold words on my book.

And then Mike jogs into the room, a thick binder in his hands and I see the colour-coded tabs sticking out from the side. Seriously, he has to be the most organized dude I've ever met. Granted, he's Asian—which, if you think about it, doesn't exactly prove anything—but he's always had this small pinch of OCD that goes a long way with his straight-A grades. His notes are always neat and precise, and he always knows where things are.

"Hey, Mike," I call out, giving the guy a small wave. "How's it going with the records?"

"Not bad, actually," he says and plops the stack of documents in front of me. "Turns out, the house was once a temporary shelter for Civil War soldiers. The first owner, Harley Jones, actually built that mansion in 1856 for his second wife. He was a doctor, and during the war, he allowed for injured soldiers to rest and recover."

Mike then enthusiastically starts flipping through the pages until he finds what he's looking for. He points to a photocopy of an old newspaper article and I lean over to read it as he continues with his animated explanation.

"He made front cover of the local newspaper for saving all those lives, too," he goes on, directing me to another article even before I can finish skimming through. "One day, he found out that his wife was having an affair with one of the soldiers, and was furious. He killed the soldier, gave him a needle and put the guy to sleep, and locked his wife up in the cellar. She was given bread and water everyday, but she was forbidden to leave the room. She fell into depression shortly after and hung herself."

Rachel gasps, appalled by the story.

"What's her name?" I ask.

A slow grin spread over Mike's lips, and it instantly clicks in my head.

"Jane?"

"Bingo!" he declares victoriously, punching his fists up in the air.

"Isn't that the name we caught on audio during out EVP session?" Finn wonders, ever the slow thinker.

"Fuck, yeah!" Mike exclaims.

"Language, Mike," Rachel chastised.

"But didn't the voice sound like a male?"

I am about to answer him when Artie Abrams enters the room, rolling in his wheelchair with a box in his lap. Crippled from birth hasn't stopped the guy from being my best technical support manager, though. He's probably the most important person in all of our investigations.

"Hey, guys!" he chirps happily.

"Hey, Arts!" I slap him a high-five as everybody else echoes my exchange.

"What have you got there?" Rachel jumps in impatiently, gesturing towards the parcel.

Setting the box atop Mike's research, Artie rips open the tape the seals the opening. He glances around dramatically, creating a lame form of suspense as he places his hands on the flaps. "Are you ready for this?"

I roll my eyes, because this cannot get any more ridiculous.

Nevertheless, Mike, Finn and I entertain his notion and nod our heads as Rachel is clasps her hands together comically in anticipation. She resembles a cartoon character and I have to resist the urge to burst out laughing. Artie makes a big show of deliberately revealing the contents of the box. It's a portable hand-held device, some sort of gadget and I hope it isn't another sound recorder.

"What's that?" Finn voices out the question on everybody's mind.

"It's an Ovilus," Artie answers, like that's going to account for anything.

"Right…" Mike trails off, quirking an eyebrow skeptically.

I glance at Rachel, wondering what kind of remarks she's about to offer. "What does it do?" she quizzed and gingerly plucks the object out of Artie's hand.

The bespectacled boy sighs, snatching the Ovilus back. "It's an electronic speech-synthesis device that utters words depending on electromagnetic waves in the air, by using an EMF Meter."

Four blank faces stare back at him, his jargon making no sense whatsoever. He turns his attention to me. "I mentioned this to you last Wednesday," he says. "It makes out words that we can't hear."

"Oh, right," I snap my fingers. "The Ovilus. So, does it work?"

"The guy in the store tested it out a few times just now, but I don't know what he's basing it on," Artie admits. "It's just an additional toy that we can look into. It might not even be accurate, but we can give it a shot."

I motion for Artie to pass the object to me and I curiously examine it for any form of instructions or terms and conditions. "Is it returnable?"

"As long as it's in good shape."

I continue inspecting the hand-held device, twisting it around to test its weight. It is relatively light, and so I'm sure it wouldn't be a big hassle during our investigations.

"Hey, guys!"

Heads pivot round towards the doorway and Tina Chang strides into the room in all her ever-bubbly glory. An automatic response is about to leave my mouth when I realize that she isn't alone, for right behind her is the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. She's looking around the room, timidly studying the surroundings, and to me, she has the most amazing eyes ever. They're hazel, outlined by her long lashes and right now, they're taking in everything around her. She has rich blonde hair that reaches just below her ears, her fringe sweeping across her forehead. It looks so soft, I just want to run my fingers through the golden strands.

She's perfect.

A modern-day Aphrodite.

And just like that she takes my breath away.

"Everyone, this is Quinn Fabray," Tina proceeds to introduce to the group. "I bumped into her in the student lounge and she told me that she's really interested in what we do, so I brought her over. I told her she could join us for today's discussion and from there she can decide if we're a good fit for her and vice versa. Wouldn't hurt to take in a new member, right?"

That last sentence is directed at me as the Chinese girl turns to me for approval. I just shrug my shoulders because quite frankly, I just don't trust myself to speak right now.

"Quinn, that's Artie. He's our technical advisor," Tina continues. I watch as Quinn extend her arms and shake the guy's hand. "That's Mike. We're not siblings, and we refuse to fall into the clichéd category of being an Asian couple, but he's really smart. He does most of the background researches in our cases. That's Rachel—"

"Hi, Quinn! We have Modern Literature together, don't we?" the brunette asks, practically grabbing onto Quinn's hand.

"Uh, yeah, I remember you," Quinn says and just hearing that angelic voice for the first time, it triggers the butterflies in my stomach. I can tell that she's slightly overwhelmed by Rachel's pot of huge smiles and aggressive enthusiasm, which, I really don't blame her for. Anybody who first meets Rachel Berry can't help but be swept in her whirlwind of energy.

"That's Finn. He's an investigator, like me."

He's got this goofy look on his face, and I reckon I know that look. It's probably a replica of my expression at the moment. Quinn gives him a kind smile as she shakes his hand. I see her discreetly wipe her palms on her dress and I chuckle slightly. Finn and his clammy hands are never a pleasant feat.

"Last but not least—"

"I'm Sam Evans," I say, trying to be as charming as possible. She accepts my hand and as her fingers curl over, I can't help thinking how tiny she is. Her smile widens and God, she's even prettier up close. I hope she can't hear my heart pounding in my chest.

"And what do you do?" she asks.

"I'm the lead investigator in this team. Welcome to Project Paranormal."

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><p><strong>AN:** So…let me know what you think :D


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Hi guys! Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! This update just sort of jumped on me because I hadn't really expected to update so fast. Either way, this is sort of like a small filler kind of update. Submitting this on my first draft, so I haven't done any proof-reading. I apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling errors!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 2**

**Monday, 6.10pm**

**/Sam Evans**

Mike is reiterating his findings on the South Oak Mansion case, but I'm not listening. My attention's fixed on the girl who's sitting front of me, her legs daintily crossed as she listens vigilantly and takes occasional notes in her pink journal. She's nibbling on her bottom lip, her dazzling golden eyes sparkling and sharp. I'm observing her, somehow fascinated by this person as I wonder what's going through her mind. There's just something about her that I can't exactly explain.

"So what happened to Harley?" she asks, her brows furrowed.

"He left after her funeral," Mike says with a shrug. "Just packed up his stuff and moved to the other side of the country. Nobody really knew where, though, but he kept his furniture and just sold the house."

"This doesn't make any sense," Quinn ponders, looking around at the group until her intense gaze lands on me. I sit up straight in my chair and shift my posture to look like I have been listening. "Why would he just leave?"

"Maybe he can't bear the pain of living in a house where his wife committed suicide," Rachel guesses out loud. She has this smile, as though she's just reached an epiphany. "There could've been too many memories."

"But he killed a patient," Quinn points out. "What's to say he didn't kill his wife, too? What if she didn't commit suicide?"

"He loved his wife," Artie tells Quinn with slow deliverance.

"Harley was an angry and jaded man," Quinn says, pointing her pen towards the photo of Harley Jones on the screen of my monitor. "He obviously wasn't thinking straight. He loved his wife, but it's only a matter of time before news starts spreading that he'd been locking her up, and that couldn't have been good for his practice."

"Quinn's got a point," I speak up. "He could've made it look like she hung herself so that people would sympathize with him. We still do not know for sure, and forensics back then weren't as evolved as what it is now."

"Does it matter?" Finn asks, his forehead pinching together like he's trying to solve a math equation. "I mean, as long as we know that it's Jane, right?"

"Except that your EVP sounds like a man," Quinn deadpans, and I'm starting to believe that she's going to be a crucial addition to the team. She's skeptical and thoroughly observant. In the span of an hour, I can also conclude that she's analytical, smart and also a blonde goddess.

"She's right," I murmur and slump back in my chair with a sigh, because we've been going in circles.

"Could it be the soldier that Jane was having an affair with?" Rachel suggests.

Everyone pauses for a moment to think.

The question that we had posed right before we received the answer was 'if anybody's here with us, could you make a noise or say something?', in which since Finn and I were doing a live-time recording, we heard the name loud and clear in our ear pieces. Also, right at the same time, we had a sudden influx in our KII EMF meter, which meant that _something_ was present at that time. Unfortunately, we didn't capture anything abnormal on our digital video cameras, but Finn thought he had an experience. However, with nothing to back it up, his so-called 'experience' might as well be bust.

"Is it possible that it could perhaps be a residual haunting?" Quinn breaks the silence, and once again she surprises me with her use of technical phrases.

For someone who's apparently a rookie—her words, not mine—she has quite a grasp on the concept of an investigation. As a leader of the group—and I dare say a veteran in the paranormal—I'm rather impressed.

"Go on," I tell her, nodding my head.

"If there _was_ an entity and it _was_ trying to communicate with you, it would've done more to grab your attention. From your recordings, it's safe to say that you've asked every possible question there is, and aside from some footsteps and one unnatural reading on your KII, there's nothing much to prove it."

"So you're saying that there might not be an intelligent haunting, but the trauma and hardships that have gone on in that house could've left some residual energy," I continue for her.

"Exactly."

"Should we have another investigation in there?" Rachel proposes, the light bulb going off in her head.

"I don't think that's necessary," I say, swaying my swivel chair from side to side. "Nothing's relatively…harmful or aggressive in that house, and that's our client's main priority. I think Quinn's right. It could just be a residual-type haunting and if things start to get out of hand, they can contact us again. This mystery with Harley and Jane, we'll just have to go with what was reported and present these findings on Wednesday."

The team agrees and then it's my turn.

"Can I ask you guys something?"

We turn to face our newest member.

"How did you guys feel? You know…" She takes a deep breath, nervously toying with her fingers. "Being in that mansion knowing it's haunted?"

I feel the corner of my lips twitch upwards as I recall my countless investigations all across the country. Every single case is different on its own, and so unique in their own ways. It's hard to pick a bad one, in fact. No matter how creepy a place or situation is, there's never a word to describe it. Some locations could make the hair at the back of my neck stand even before the sun goes down, while there are some others that are mild and inconclusive. It doesn't mean that we don't take those investigations seriously, though. I've always reminded my team time and again to take full advantage of a case. You just never know when something unsuspecting would happen.

"I'm mostly down at central command," Artie tells her. "I monitor our cameras and make sure that they're functional at all times. I let the investigators know if something's amiss and they'll go check it out. Sometimes they'll radio back to me to double check on certain evidences or occurrences."

"So you don't get to investigate with them?"

Artie shrugs nonchalantly. "Sometimes I do."

"I didn't go down for this investigation," Mike says. "But the White Banks Cattle Inn was the one case I can't forget."

"I was terrified on my first investigation," Rachel reveals, and the three guys and I exchange knowing looks before bursting into snickers. "It's not funny!" the brunette squeals and slaps Finn's shoulder. "It was the Only Hope Nursing Home—even the name sounds tragic—and I don't really like old people, so you can just imagine the situation I'm in. I was determined to go in, you know, I needed to do this if I wanted to be an investigator, and Finn was my partner, and God, I was freaking out."

"You were screaming 'what if they touch me? What if they touch me?'" Finn shrieks in his best impression of Rachel, waving his arms madly in the air in a girlish sort of way. He looks stupid, but that's exactly what Rachel had done.

"So I told her that it would be amazing if she had an experience," I add on.

"And she started freaking out even more," Artie finishes for me.

"I don't blame her, though," Tina jumps in to defend her best friend. "I was scared shitless during my first investigation. It's tough because you have to block out all of your preconceptions, and just experience the location. You can't let your imagination get to you or it will drive you crazy. You've got to think like the police, like you're going in there to gather facts, and nothing is proven till something is captured."

Quinn turns to me and tilts her head in that completely adorable way. "What about you, Sam?"

"I can't explain it to you, Quinn," I tell her honestly. "It's something you'll have to find out."

She looks a little disappointed in my answer. I guess she was expecting some dramatic confessions or another, but I truly mean what I said.

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance," I gently assure her, anything to erase that wrinkle of worry between her brows. Quinn glances up to meet my gaze again and I give her a playful wink. It's probably worthy of the Cheesiest Award but I guess it works, because I get to see that beautiful smile again.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 6.45pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

Sam's staring at Quinn again, and I'm sure he doesn't realize it, but when I glance over at Artie, I know that my poor friend is in trouble. Okay, not _trouble_ kind of trouble _per se_, but Sam's never been a hit with the girls. It's something even his 'sexy' lips—and I quote from the man himself—can't save.

"Should we move on now, Sam?" I cough out so as not to embarrass the guy.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," he blurt out, clearing his throat as he scramble to reach for his keyboard and mouse. I spy Artie snickering at the corner and Tina giving him a questioning look right after. She then turns to me next and I raise my hands up in surrender.

_I did no shit_, I mouth out to her and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Right, so," Sam begins and we all snap back to give him our full attention. "I've gone through our e-mails and as usual we have a fair share of cases to work on. We've received one all the way up in Montana, which is pretty interesting, but it's too far for us right now. We can probably investigate it during our term break."

"What's it about?" Finn asks.

"It's a historical gallery slash diner privately owned by a couple, and ever since they bought over the property, they've been having paranormal experiences," he explains, and clicks onto an image on his desktop to reveal a photo of the location. "As you can see, it's been nicely renovated and what not, but the activities hasn't stopped yet."

"What's the history of the place?"

"Glad you asked, Quinn," he grins. "In the early nineteen-hundreds, that building used to be a brothel."

My ears perk up. I've never investigated a brothel—or used-to-be brothel—before and I reckon it would be quite sweet. "When are we leaving?" I gush, the excitement of being there already running through my body.

"Hold your horses, cowboy," Rachel is quick to interrupt. She's such a party pooper. "Sam said we won't be able to investigate that location until term break."

"What are the claims there?" Artie questions.

"The owners said that they've heard voices, like people shouting at each other," Sam proceeds on, ticking the points with his fingers. "Sometimes glasses in the bar area would fall on their own. There's also a picture on the wall that refuses to stay up there. They'll always fix a new nail and it'll always end up on the floor a week or so later."

"Have they tried hanging the picture somewhere else?" Rachel wonders out loud.

Sam shakes his head. "Doesn't seem like it. Other claims they've had were footsteps that sounded like there were spurs attached—"

"Like a cowboy?" I quirk an eyebrow, amused.

He nods. "Just like a cowboy," he replies. "Also, they've heard knockings on the kitchen door when the place closes at night. One of the employees claimed that she always feel uncomfortable whenever she's working at the bar, like someone's watching her."

"Wow, that's a lot of activity," Finn notes.

"What's next?" Tina asks.

"There's a girl, Brittany S. Pierce, who goes here in San-State U, but she's from Pennsylvania, and she thinks that her house is sort of haunted."

"Sort-of haunted?" Artie snorts. "Dude, it's either haunted or it's not."

Tina whacks him near his neck. She doesn't appreciate sarcasm or douchebag-like remarks.

"Well, she visits her family every now and then, and every time she goes back, she's got an experience," Sam explains. "Her bedside lamp switches on and off without her touching it, she feels like she's constantly being watched. Once, she saw a black shadowy figure in a corner of her room."

"Did it just happen recently?"

"I don't know, Quinn," he politely replies, and I'm starting to realize that he's saying her name an awful lot. "She didn't exactly specify."

"Wait, did you say Brittany S. Pierce?" Rachel cuts in.

"Yeah."

"I have her in my Creative Writing class," the brunette informs the group. "She's always been kind of strange, to me, I mean."

"Strange, how?" Finn scrunches his nose quizzically.

"She's always had a…" Rachel makes circling gestures with her hands, thinking of a suitable adjective. "colourful—for a lack of a better word—imagination. Her essays are usually about this fantasy world she builds in her head, filled with rainbows and unicorns. Just last week, she was convinced that her cat is a leprechaun in disguise."

The awkward pause in the room is promptly followed by the sound of crickets in my ear.

"So you're saying it's probably just something she's making up?" Sam asks.

"Probably."

"Hang on," Quinn steps in, her investigative mode kicking in. If there's one thing I've noticed about her—apart from her obvious beauty and grace—it's that she's always cautious of her words. "But you said she thinks of rainbows and unicorns. How is that any relation to something paranormal in her room? If she's anything like you say she is, then she would probably ask us to investigate the pot of gold that hasn't appeared at the foot of her bed."

Wow, she's good.

Perhaps she'll be a psychologist some day.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Oh, Finn, you poor bastard," Artie comments snidely, receiving another smack from Tina.

"Well, that _does_ seem possible…" Rachel muses.

"Maybe she just needs to see someone," I say.

Tina points her glare at me. "Like a shrink?"

"She could just be having hallucinations," I shoot back to defend my point.

"We should go talk to her and find out more," Sam tells everyone, taking charge of the meeting again. "Get to know her better and then re-asses the situation to see if we need to do an investigation. Rachel, since you're a familiar face, I appoint you to that task. I don't need immediate answers or anything. This is a delicate situation. Give her some time to loosen up to you."

The brunette nods her head determinedly.

"Any questions?"

"No, Sam."

"Great, then let's carry on," Sam says authoritatively. "We have one more case, and I think you'll love this one."

He conjures up a photo from the taskbar and my eyes widen at the sight. I hear Tina gasp and Artie mutter a profanity under his breath. I take a quick peek at Quinn and she's squinting her hazel eyes and scrutinizing on the picture. Sam's staring at her again. Poor chap doesn't even know he's doing it so blatantly, and Rachel and Finn seem indifferent. They had probably already seen the image then.

"That's really clear, dude," I comment, still amazed. "What's the story behind it?"

Sam proceeds to explain the situation of a baby-sitter and how she managed to snap a photo with her camera phone. All I can think of is that it must've scared the crap out of her, especially since she seemed more concerned for the child instead of her own safety. I'm all for cases like this one, truly helping out the people who are thoroughly affected by such paranormal phenomenon, and I wouldn't mind taking this up.

"Shall we do it?" Sam asks the group.

"Heck, yeah!" I yell out, and I'm accompanied by positive responses from everyone else.

"Alright then, Tina, I'd like for you to arrange a convenient time and date with the client for a short interview and a walk-through, and then another day for the investigation," he instructs. "Rachel, please don't forget about Brittany. Mike, run through the records and try to find out how many items in the mansion still belong to Harley Jones. Artie, good job on the Ovilus. Hopefully we can use it on our next investigation. Finn…never mind."

I snicker as I see Finn's face fall flat.

"And Quinn…"

She looks up at him expectantly, her hazel eyes sparkling and blonde hair shining, and I'm quite certain for that split second, Sam forgets his words.

"Welcome to the team."

With that, meeting is adjourned.

I start to pack my stuff up, remembering to gather the rest of the printouts from my desk. Artie's packing the new gadget back into the box, treating it with so much care you'd think it's a bomb in his hands. Finn is engaged in a conversation with Rachel—well, Rachel is doing all the talking and all Finn is doing is nod his head—and Tina's showing Quinn our huge-ass wall calendar. It's just this giant corkboard that fills up one corner of the room. We stick important dates up there as well as all of our class and work schedules. Yes, some of us—including yours truly—has to work part-time in order to afford the smaller luxuries in life, like this passion for the paranormal. We all tend to travel a lot whenever we're working on cases, and gas prices are getting so pricey nowadays, most of our allowances aren't able to cover it.

I take a quick glance down at my wristwatch.

_Shit, I'm going to be late!_

My shift starts in twenty minutes.

"Hey, Quinn."

I peek over my shoulder and notice that everyone else has left, conveniently leaving Sam with his present object of affections. Smirking to myself, I continue shuffling things around and try to look busy. This is going to be worth a little bit of nagging from my manager.

"Sam."

"So…I was thinking, you know, to go grab some dinner. Are you…available? I mean to join me for a burger or something?"

I can just picture her amusement.

"Oh, well, actually I need to head home. I've got a paper due tomorrow and…"

Awkward.

"No, it's okay!" Sam blurts out.

"I'm sorry, it's not—"

"No, I understand. It's fine, really," he tells her, and as I steal another glimpse, I can see the telltale blush colouring his cheeks. "Do you need a ride?"

"I drive."

"Right, okay…"

"Thanks for the offer though. Rain check on the burger?"

"Yeah, sure!" Sam says breathlessly. I'm almost embarrassed for him. "That sounds great!"

"I'll see you around, Sam."

"Yeah, drive safe, Quinn."

I hear her footsteps as she strides out of the room and turn around. "Dude, that's just lame," I mention to him.

He rolls his eyes, his attempt half-hearted. "Shut up."

"Stop being so obvious. It's making the rest of us look bad," I chuckle.

"How am _I_ being obvious?" he asks, shuffling his way over to his desk.

I fold my arms across my chest. "You were drooling over her the moment she stepped in."

"I did not!" he denies indignantly, chucking a stack of post-it notes towards me, narrowly missing my head by a bit.

"You did too, but I don't blame you. Quinn's smoking hot."

"She's beautiful," he corrects me pointedly and focuses on shutting down his computer. Sam's such a gentleman. He hates it when the rest of us objectifies or degrades a girl.

"Fine," I give in. "She's gorgeous, but that's not cool, man."

"I was just asking her if she wanted to go grab dinner. It's not a big deal."

"It is if you've just known her for an hour."

Sam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's those eyes, Mike."

"I know what you mean."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Like my previous chapter, let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is always appreciated as well :D

**Alli2345:** Thank you! Thanks for reviewing!

****s. inthehouse**: **Thank you so much for the lovely comments! Yes, it is going to be sort of supernatural kind of thing with some mystery and Fabrevans romance!

**Lissa:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

**Mandorac:** OMG, I literally squealed when I saw that you've reviewed my story! I absolutely LOVE your work and your fanfics, it's really comforting to know that you approve of this :D

**Agustinag:** Thank you so much! Glad to know you like my story!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **A little spoiler alert before you start reading this chapter…there's a nice little Sam/Quinn development in this update, which I hope you will all like. It's another sort of filler chapter, though, but I'm trying to move this story along towards the paranormal side as soon as possible. Just bear with me for a bit, okay? I swear it'll come.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 3**

**Tuesday, 12.30pm**

**/Mike Chang**

It's lunchtime, and the cafeteria is full of students milling around. The group of girls behind me are gossiping about their new history teacher or another, and they keep squealing every ten seconds. Either way, it's not exactly the most conducive environment to be in while I'm perusing through the document reports for the South Oak Mansion case. I've managed to pull some strings last night and when I woke up this morning, there was a package sitting at my doorstep.

I'd nearly shit my pants at the brash delivery—pun intended—considering the amount of classified information that was in there. Well, it's not like sitting in a room full of nosy teenagers as I'm reading them makes it any better. I'm highlighting important stuff as I go, my chicken burrito still left untouched, mentally calculating the estimated cost of the entire property. It's just really sad that old man Harley Jones hadn't left a will, not a peep and not a zip. I wonder what the state's going to do with his house. For all that it's worth, I suppose it's probably going to end up being a town attraction.

"Mike! Hey, Mike!"

I glance up, and my eyes about pop out of their sockets when I see Aphrodite Reincarnate—something I heard from Sam in class that morning—making a beeline for me. Craning my head around, I look over my shoulder to check if there are any other Mikes behind me because there is absolutely no way that Quinn Fabray is talking to me. I turn back again and she's plopping down in the empty seat in front of me with a gorgeous smile upon her lips.

At that instant, in such close proximity, I finally figure out why Sam's already smitten by this girl. He wouldn't shut up about her in Chemistry, and I was so close to burning my ears off just to save myself from the torture. She tilts her head to one side and asks, "are you okay?"

I snap out of it. "Yeah, yeah," I reply her sheepishly, and like the weakling I am, I start to blush. Damn that Evans. He's spreading unnecessary girl-issue diseases to me. "Hi, Quinn. What's up?"

She gently places her ring binder on the table, all of a sudden looking a bit uncomfortable. Please God, don't let her ask me about Sam. I may be his best friend, but I'm a terrible wingman.

"I'm just wondering if I can have a look at those reports on Harley Jones?"

I probably have a stunned expression on my face because she breaks into another smile.

"I want to know what those articles say about that case," she goes on to explain. "I have a feeling that there's something we're overlooking. Are there any witness accounts?"

When I finally—embarrassingly—get my voice back, I say, "all the reports state that Jane committed suicide. There's no inconsistency in that, and witness accounts are really limited. The ones that are mentioned are all quite vague; nothing much aside from the obvious."

"Do you mind if I have a read?" she asks, gesturing to the stack of papers in my hands. "I just—I really feel like there's more to what we know."

"She committed suicide, Quinn," I tell her politely, trying not to sound too patronizing because I know what it feels like to get so caught up in a case. Perhaps she's just overwhelmed by all of this or something, but certain facts are simply not questionable. "What more is there?"

"I'm just having a hunch," she admits quietly, and I notice the disheartened look in her otherwise flawless features. "If she were to commit suicide, she would've done it the day Harley killed the soldier."

Well, that certainly is a new perspective, isn't it? I ponder the possibilities.

Just maybe…

With a resigned sigh, I detach the necessary reports from my folder and slide it across to her. She brightens a little, the sparkle returning to her perfect hazel eyes, but as she reaches out for the documents, I keep my hands there to stop her.

"I'm not agreeing with you on that, Quinn, because I've read these over a million times," I inform her. "But you have your own thoughts and I respect that. Just don't get too disheartened if you don't find what you're looking for."

"I won't," she mumbles unconvincingly.

I lean forward a bit. "Why would Harley kill his own wife?" I question her. "He loved her."

She shrugs her petite shoulders. "You don't abuse the woman you love, do you, Mike?"

"No," I mutter under my breath, and then I realize where she's coming from. "But why so interested, Quinn?"

She's quiet for a while, and I guess she's contemplating whether or not she should tell me. I watch her every movement. Somehow, this girl fascinates me. I mean, she's not my type or anything—she seems a little too intense for my liking—but there's this strange energy, it's drawing me in.

However, before she can open her mouth to say something, my cellphone beeps to signal an incoming text message. I glimpse down at the screen and it's my roommate, Noah Puckerman.

_Dude, I need your fucking essay. Now._

That lazy asshole.

He's going to steal my work and then submit it as his own. Again. For the third time this month, and he's not even going to bother rephrasing anything at all. _Puck_—that's how he wants people to address him by—is a huge bully, and a big-time douchebag but he has a brain the size of a pea. The only thing saving his butt right now is his football scholarship. Even then, he probably needs a decent point average. Hence, his incessant need to bother me with things that aren't my business.

"I've gotta go," I tell Quinn apologetically. "My roommate's being a jerk and if I don't get back to my dorm immediately, Lord knows what he might do to my laptop."

She chuckles, giving me an understanding nod. "He sits in front of me in Geography," she says, and for a moment I'm confused until I realize she must've seen Puck's name on my screen. "Snores like a truck."

I roll my eyes and start packing my stuff as I stand up. "Tell me about it. I've resorted to using noise-canceling headphones and a vibrating alarm clock every night. Sometimes I just want to smother him with a pillow and ship his body to the North Pole."

"North Pole? Don't you think that's a little too harsh?"

I smile down at her. "You're something, Quinn Fabray, you know that?"

"I do," she replies mock self-righteously.

However, I can't help throwing a bone out for my dear friend. "Do you also know that Sam's in love with you?"

Quinn blinks, and a beat later I see the colour creep into her cheeks as she bites on her lower lip and looks away. "Does he, now?"

My eyebrows shoot up when I recognize the implication behind her reactions.

Who would've thought?

Sam Evans, you are one lucky bastard.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday 3.25pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

I'm all alone in the headquarters, feet propped up on the table; reading through the new stuff Mike's sent over to me regarding the South Oak Mansion case, and I'm intrigued at the findings. Frankly, I don't even know where the dude gets his information. They're so highly classified, there's no way they're even legal. I do another brief skim down the article, wondering how much a doctor would've earned back in those days, especially in the midst of a war.

Harley Jones wasn't particularly an important figure in history. He didn't dictate decisions and he didn't deal with politics, so it baffles me to no end how he could afford such luxuries. His family wasn't wealthy in any way; his dad was only a clerk in a bank while his mum was a librarian. Being the only son was the only thing that had allowed for him to attend the local medical school.

I hear a knock on the door and glance up, expecting to see one of the guys, but instead doing a double take when I see Quinn Fabray by the entrance. Are you fucking kidding me? Am I dreaming?

"Hi."

Hastily, I swing my legs off the table. "Hey," I blurt out, clearing my throat. "Hi, erm, did you leave something here? Do you need anything?"

She gently shakes her head, her short golden blonde hair swishing from side to side; a soft smile on her doll-like features. "No. May I come in?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," I say, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment.

She walks over, and as she gets nearer, my hands start clamming up. I quickly wipe my palms on my jeans, sticking my tongue out to wet my lips as Quinn pulls a chair and sits in front of me, placing her ring binder on the desk that's separating us.

"I've read through the articles on the South Oak Mansion case."

"Oh?" I'm actually impressed.

"Some things don't add up," she tells me, but I'm suddenly distracted as I gaze into her beautiful eyes. Quinn's flipping through the pages in her folder until she finds the right article and then jabs a finger at a highlighted portion. "How did a woman, locked up in a room, attain rope to hang herself?"

"What?" I grab the binder and spin it around, reading over the particular paragraph. "At approximately eleven-thirty in the evening, Jane Winston-Jones was found dead in her house. The husband of the deceased, Mr. Harley Jones, a local general practitioner, is distraught over the loss. She was believed to have killed herself with the aid of a rope. At present, Mr. Jones has refused to speak to the press and has demanded privacy."

I mull over it for a moment.

"Who keeps a rope in the bedroom?" Quinn wonders out loud. "If she'd wanted to commit suicide, she could've done it with her clothes, or a towel or something, but somehow she found a rope. How's that possible?"

The passion in her voice, the strong determined tone, is so different from any other girls I've ever met. Rachel is just annoying as hell, loud and a tab bit obnoxious. Tina is just the sort of girl who goes with the flow and doesn't really question anything, but Quinn, she's got a mind of her own and this puzzles me a little.

"Quinn, can I ask you something?"

She pauses for a bit. "Sure."

"Why do you care so much about this case?" I ask because it genuinely interests me, the amount of effort she's putting into our investigation.

She's regarding me in a perplexed manner. "Well, isn't this our—your—job? To solve these mysteries?"

"Yeah, but we're not exactly the FBI. There's only so much we can try and solve, especially dealing with the paranormal. We don't have any other evidences to disprove the claims. For all we know, Jane probably really _did_ kill herself and we're just going round in circles."

I can tell she doesn't like what she's hearing, and I seriously do not want to be the bad guy in the situation, but regardless, I'm still the leader of the group and it is my job to ensure that my investigators aren't getting too attached to a particular case or straying too far away from the facts and reality.

"Can we at least do another investigation there? I would like to have a look at least."

It pains me, what I'm about to do next, because she's staring at me with those big pleading eyes, and I reckon if I don't say anything quick, she might have me wrapped around her finger and I'd give in to her request.

"Quinn, we're presenting our findings to the client tomorrow," I remind her. "And after that, we're closing the case."

"Oh."

She seems so disappointed that I'm tempted to reach out and have her in my arms. "I know what it feels like, Quinn." Damnit, I can't stop saying her name. "But sometimes you have to let it go because, let's face it. Regardless, we're dealing with the paranormal—an affiliation to the past that's just caught in the present—and it's something we can't change. Like I've said, we're not the police."

"Well, I know, it's just…" she trails off, and I'm getting curious.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Quinn?"

Her silence makes me think that I've landed closer than I thought. She tears her eyes away from mine and I lean forward to try and catch her gaze again.

"Quinn?" I softly prod on, not wanting to spook her.

She takes a deep breath. "Yeah, you're right," she sighs. "I'm just getting hung up on this. I probably should just let it go."

"That doesn't mean that I don't appreciate your efforts though," I'm quick to let her know, because I really _do_ think she's doing a splendid job with her own mini investigation. "For a rookie, you've got a great eye for detail."

For a brief second, the corners of her pink lips twitch upwards. "Thanks, Sam."

"You're welcome."

"Can I ask you one more thing?" Her tone is shy, almost timid as she slowly lifts her head to look at me. She doesn't wait for me to answer, though. "Mike told me that you're in love with me. Is that true?"

My eyes grow wide in horror, and I'm just wishing for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. I can feel a blush whooshing up to my face but all I can think of are the million and one ways in which I am going to kill that best friend of mine.

He told her.

He fucking told Quinn Fabray.

"Is that true?" she repeats and I detect the slight sense of uncertainty.

There are two ways to go from here, I reckon. I can suck it up, be a man and admit my feelings—no matter how humiliating it is—or I can be a coward and deny the statement, simultaneously destroying any chance that I can possibly have with his blonde Goddess. When it comes to the opposite gender, I've always been a pussy—pun intended—and as much as possible, I tend to avoid anything that would involve my imbalanced teenage hormones because girls have this undeniable power to reduce me to a socially awkward mess.

I clear my throat and decide to take the plunge. "What exactly did he say?"

"That you're in love with me."

"And, what do _you_ think?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "That's what I'm trying to find out. Are you in love with me, Sam Evans?"

My head's getting a little dizzy from all that blood stimuli, my ears are hot, and I fear that I may just pass out any second. "Well, _not exactly_, but—" I mumble, my words coming out in a slur. "Define 'in love'."

"Sam, you just knew me yesterday."

I run my fingers through my shaggy hair, somewhat uncomfortable. I've never been in such a predicament before; I don't know exactly what to do. "I know, I mean, God, you're gorgeous, and you're sweet and you're smart and witty, and I've never met a girl like you before, and I guess, you know, I like you a lot, Quinn Fabray."

Oh shit, I'm rambling like an idiot.

"You like me?"

"A lot."

And then we sit there in silence for what seems like an eternity, with me staring up at the clock on the wall, counting the seconds that pass. I can feel her watching me, and as the time hits a full minute, I finally find the courage to meet her hypnotic hazel eyes. It's like a Jedi mind trick, and I'm not sure if she's even aware of what she's doing to me.

"So, are you going to kiss me now?" she murmurs.

It is then that I'm aware that our noses are barely an inch away. I'm definitely positive now that she can feel my heart hammering through the fabric of my clothes, and these hands of mine are shaking so bad, I figure I ought to seize the chance before I really collapse or something. And so closing the remaining gap between us, I capture her soft lips in mine.

The kiss itself is tender and precarious, nothing grand or award-worthy, but it tastes sweeter than honey and is everything I'd imagined and more. She pulls away first and as her eyelids flutter open, I'm once again drowning in the depths of her dark pupils. A flash of emotion crosses her features, and suddenly I'm worried that I might be a terrible kisser.

"Is something wrong?"

Just like that, though, the expression is gone and she's smiling at me.

"No, but I'm just thinking now would be a good time to take you up on that offer for a burger."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing my story! Please keep them coming, 'cause I really love to hear about your views and your comments. As always, constructive criticism is welcome, so do not hesitate to voice out should there be any faults in my story.

**Alli2345:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you're liking my story so far :D

**Mandorac:** I'm so glad you liked the previous chapter, and also the wonderful comments! At the moment, they haven't gone into a proper investigation, but I promise you that it'll happen soon. Frankly, I can't wait till I get to that point, because I think that it'll be rather fun to write! Thank you so much for reviewing and I'm glad that you like the story!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Thank you! :D

**Agustinag:** Wow, thank you so much! I've always been a huge fan of Ghost Hunters, Ghost Lab and Paranormal State, and although I'm quite a wuss when dealing with real-life paranormal stuff (truthfully, I've never been on a single investigation), the other side just captivates me. I'm glad you're liking it so far!

**Burnthiscityxx:** I think I fangirl-ed for a while when I saw that you've reviewed my chapter! Thank you so much for reading and commenting! I love your stories, they're amazing! I'm glad that you're liking my story so far! Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **All the wonderful reviews! I'll start by saying a huge thank you to those of you who have read and patiently reviewed my story thus far! I hadn't expected to update this so soon, but I was inspired, so here it goes!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 4**

**Tuesday, 5.45pm**

**/Sam Evans**

Burger Bar is the only indulgent spot within walking distance from the campus. It's cheap and totally unhealthy, but it's where students go to chill.

I would bring her some place better than that scrappy diner, but honestly, I'm strapped for cash and between school and Project Paranormal, I barely even have time to eat, let alone look for a part-time job. Unlike Mike Chang, the super genius, I tend to struggle with my studies, what with being dyslexic and all. I'm just lucky that my mom's constantly sending allowances over, but when you're nineteen and still living on your parent's money, it's something sad, so I try not to depend on her too much. As far as possible, I avoid driving my beat-up car around, reserving the use of it for the more important trips, like a case, for example.

It's good, though, because the sun's just starting to set, and even though it's rather warm out, the cool breeze is picking up now.

"So, tell me about yourself, Quinn Fabray. What's your major?" I ask, trying to strike up a conversation as we make our way over.

"Arts and Mass Communication," she answers.

"Really? You don't seem like the type," I say, but quickly catch myself when she raises a perfectly sculpted brow at me. "I mean to say that I wouldn't—you're not—you don't—" Struggling to form a coherent sentence, I take a deep breath to calm myself. "I'm not sure if you realize this, but you're an incredibly smart person, and if you hadn't told me, I would think that you're studying to be a psychologist."

"I did want to, actually," she tells me as we resume with our walk, and I inwardly heave a sigh of relief now that we're on normal grounds again.

I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "Then why didn't you?"

She shrugs, something I notice she does quite a lot. "Didn't think I could do it."

"How is that even possible?"

There's a junction up ahead, and I can see the familiar stores, as we get closer to our destination. Stopping at a junction, we wait for the traffic light to turn green. I'm checking her out, and I'm sure she knows it but she doesn't make a big deal.

"What do you mean?"

Her gorgeous hazel eyes are taking me in, wide and expressive, though clouded with slight confusion but beautiful nonetheless. The wind blows some strands of her blond hair across her face and before I can even comprehend anything, I reach out and tuck them behind her ear. My fingers brush against her skin and I marvel at how soft it feels. Involuntarily, I take a step forward; clasping my free hand in her tiny one like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I've known you for less than twenty-four hours, Quinn, but in this short period of time, I'm convinced that there's nothing you're incapable of achieving," I tell her, rubbing the back of her hand with the pad of my thumb. "You've managed to steal my heart the second you stepped into the room yesterday, and do you know how hard it is for me to actually _like_ a girl?"

The afternoon light casts a warm orange glow upon her face as she smiles shyly up at me through her long lashes. "Do you know how cheesy that sounds?"

"Not until I said it out loud," I admit sheepishly.

The stoplight changes and hand-in-hand, we cross the road in comfortable silence. It doesn't take long before we arrive at the diner. As usual, the place is buzzing with college students. I take a quick scan around and spy a booth at a semi-private corner near the kitchen. Almost immediately, a waitress approaches to get our orders.

"You kids ready to order?"

"Oh, erm," I clear my throat, plucking the menu from the napkin holder on the table and sliding it over to my girlfriend. I suppose, can I call her that now? Are we on a date? Either way, it's only a gentlemanly thing to do and ask the girl first, right? "What would you like, Quinn?"

"Just the normal medium barbecue beef burger with chips instead of fries, and a side of coleslaw instead of the salad," she says to the older lady without even glancing down at the menu. I guess I shouldn't be surprised since this joint is a regular to most people, but to know that Quinn doesn't bother about fat intake like the rest of the female species is actually a huge turn on. "Oh, and a chocolate milkshake."

"And you?"

Quinn nudges me from across the table, snapping me out of my stupor. "Shoots, I'll have the beef burger as well, but I'll keep the fries and salad, and Coke for me."

Without even bothering to grace us with a smile whatsoever, the waitress stalks off.

"You eat here often?"

She gives me this secretive grin, and I feel something stir in my stomach. Or maybe I'm just hungry.

"I eat here often enough," she replies. "Now, what about you, Sam. What do you major in?"

"Astronomy."

"That's really interesting, isn't it?"

"I suppose so."

"What is it that you like about Astronomy?"

I think for a bit, not knowing where to start. There are probably an infinite number of reasons for my love of physics and the way the universe works, but I don't reckon she'd want to listen to me drone on and on about it.

"It's just, all the space and the stars, it's fascinating how the galaxy works," I say, attempting to explain something that I've always found difficulty putting to words. "I can't really describe it, though."

"How did you discover your love for it then?"

"My dad used to take me out camping a lot, and at night, we'd sleep under the stars and he'd tell me stories about the constellations," I recall, a nostalgic smile tugging on the corner of my lips. "Of course as I grew older, I found out most of his stories aren't true, but that only made me wonder even more how the stars are made, or how the solar system works."

A different waitress returns with our drinks, and as I take a sip, I watch as Quinn does the same with her milkshake. And a moment later, the same waitress comes back with our food, setting the plates carelessly down on the table. I grab for the bottle of ketchup while Quinn reaches out for the salt, our arms crossing paths, and we freeze for a split second, exchanging glances. She starts giggling first, the sound so angelic, I don't want it to stop, but she's so contagious that I find myself joining in the laughter.

"God, we're so lame," she comments as we untangle ourselves.

I squirt a generous amount of ketchup all over my fries, and then some more in between the bun and patty of my burger. She observes this and scrunches her nose in distaste.

"What?"

"That's disgusting," she points out, and I chuckle because she sounds exactly like my mom.

"I like it." I take a big bite and notice the amount of salt that's going in her chips. Swallowing my food, I gesture towards her sodium chloride-soaked potatoes. "You're going to get hypertension with that."

She just grins at me and shrugs again. "I like it," she echoes before digging into her burger with her bare hands.

We eat for a while, making idle chat now and then, and I realize that the nervousness from earlier on had totally disappeared. As we sit there minutes later, our bellies full and satisfied, I can't help but stare at her beauty. There's a smudge of barbecue sauce on her right cheek and instinctively I extend my arms to wipe it away.

"You had sauce on your face," I notify her, displaying the evidence on my thumb before wiping it off on the napkin.

Underneath the jarring fluorescent lights, I see her blush a shade of red. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Tell me about those stories, Sam," she requests.

"Which stories?"

"The ones your dad used to tell you."

I weave my fingers through my hair. "If I start now, I probably wouldn't be able to stop," I tell her jokingly. "There's just so many of them."

"Then tell me about your dad."

Picturing my old man in my head and those favourite flannel shirts of his, I'm transported back in time. "He's the best dad I can ever ask for," I say. "He's my own personal superhero, and all my years growing up, I've always looked up to him."

"What's he like?"

"He's the strictest disciplinarian I've ever known. He used to punish me for the silliest things, like when I'd leave my muddy shoes all over the carpet, or pee on the rose bush." Her jaw drops at my confession, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. She doesn't offer a remark, so I take that as a cue to continue. "Yeah, and he wouldn't hesitate to send me down to the basement for the night."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

"Not unless it's haunted."

"Your basement is haunted?" she gasps.

"Well, the basement in my old house was," I clarify. "He used to tell me that just to scare the crap out of me, and sometimes he'd plant tape recorders down there and just play some random sound effects. I'd be so freaked out and I'd start banging on the door. It wasn't till I turned six or seven, though that things started happening down there."

"Like what?"

"Well, he had sent me down there one night, and believe me, I don't exactly remember any of this. Perhaps just small flashes here and there, but he told me that I hadn't started banging on the door, and he got worried, so when he came down, he saw me talking all alone in a corner." Pausing dramatically, I take a languid sip of my drink. "But there was no one there."

"What happened after that?"

"My dad thought that it was just my imaginary friend or something, but I kept insisting that there's a man down at the basement playing a game with me. He'd told my mom, but the both of them just assumed that I had an active mind or something and left it at that. Well, unfortunately for him, his punishment was deemed a failure because I wasn't scared of the basement anymore, and he'd stopped sending me down there."

"Did you see the man anymore after that?"

I shake my head. "No, not really."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard voices instead."

Suddenly, I'm interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing in my pocket. Pulling the device out of my pants, I read the name on the screen and figure I ought to answer it.

"It's Tina," I inform Quinn.

"Then answer it."

I hold the phone up to my ear. "Hello?"

"Sam! We've got an emergency," the Asian girl blurts out at the other end of the receiver. "It's about the South Oak Mansion case. I've just received a call from our client, and she's very upset. Her caretaker had been alone in the house when she was suddenly pushed down a flight of stairs."

"Pushed down?" I repeat incredulously. "You sure?"

"There's a red handprint at back of her body, and the doctors can't exactly explain it. Judy is demanding we go over there right now and carry out an investigation," Tina continues in a single breath.

"Did anything else happen aside from that?"

"Not that I know of, but she's going to chew our asses off if we don't get our butts there tonight."

I glance over a Quinn and her forehead is creased with worry, but I'm trying to gauge if she's ready to do this investigation tonight. Tina's still yapping away like she always does whenever she's stressed out over something and I'm still staring a Quinn. Well, so much for a first date.

"The headquarters. Now."

I hang up the phone and jump to my feet, fishing out my wallet form the back pocket of my jeans and tossing some bills on the table. Quinn just regards me with confusion as I thrust my hand out at her. "Come on, we've got to go," I tell her solemnly. She senses the urgency in the situation and silently cooperates, interlocking her fingers with mine.

We run all the way back to campus grounds, and given her small frame, I'm once again pleasantly surprised that Quinn's actually matching up to my pace. Right before we enter the building, though, I stop running and pull her body close to me. We're panting and trying to catch our breaths, and I'm not exactly sure why we were even running to begin with, but as I gingerly cradle her face in my palms, I'm thanking the heavens above that she's still right here.

"I'm sorry, Quinn," I mumble apologetically. "I know this isn't how a first date is supposed to go, and I'll make it up to you, I swear, but right now, we've got an emergency. It's the South Oak Mansion case, and before you go in there, I just want you to know that we'll be doing an impromptu investigation tonight."

She's gazing up at me with those hopeful eyes and says, "do I have to come along?"

"Only if you want to."

"I do."

I nod my head. "Alright, then. I promise, Quinn, I'll make it up to you."

She smirks at me just then. "So, that's our first date, huh?"

"Why do you think I paid?" I ask rhetorically, quirking an eyebrow.

"Does that mean this is the end of it?"

"It doesn't have to be," I say hopefully. "Depending on how you look at it, this investigation can be our part two of the evening."

"Part two?"

I tentatively place my hands on her hips, bringing our foreheads together. "Come on, how many girls can say that they'd gone on a paranormal investigation on their first date?"

"None, I suppose," she giggles. "Because those girls would be crazy."

"But you're going either way, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Taking advantage of the tender moment, I lean in—keeping my hands firmly in place—and kiss her lips for the second time that day. It's a lot nicer now, sweeter somehow, and perhaps we're at that safe place—okay, maybe it's a little too early for that—but I would like to think that we're making some sort of progress, albeit the fact that we kind of jumped the wagon with this.

"You ready?"

Once again, she shrugs her shoulders. "I guess so."

"Curious?"

"Sure."

"Nervous?"

"A little," she answers truthfully.

"Excited?"

"You bet."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I had about five different endings to this chapter in my head, but eventually, I've decided to take it easy and write something simple to go with how the date between our favourite couple went. I'm so blown away by the many wonderful reviews right now, and I appreciate every single one of them so much, and I'd like to thank everybody who has taken time and effort to read my story and offer helpful comments with words of wisdom!

**Agustinag:** Firstly, thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you enjoyed the Quinn/Sam scene in the last chapter :D They're both nineteen, by the way, and they're in college at the moment. I will be writing on an investigation, it's coming up next, actually. Your experience sounds really exciting, needless to say even though it's rather terrifying. Honestly, I've never had an experience, and I'm writing this blindly based on books and every other source that I can find. All I'm hoping now is that I'm able to do this story justice with my writing. Oh, and no worries on the English. I understand you perfectly!

**Quam314159**: Thank you for reading and reviewing! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Alli2345:** Aww…thank you so much! Well, I can safely say that there are some Sam/Quinn moments in this update. As for something scary…I guess you'll have to read on to find out :P

**IShipFabrevans:** I nearly peed myself when I got a notification that you've reviewed my story. I've read your work, and I absolutely fell in love with every piece you've done. That said, I'm super flattered that you've taken time to read this humble little fanfic of mine and leave impressive and helpful comments! Well, I figured, regarding the characters, I reckon that making them too OOC would end up nipping me in the butt one day, so I try to retain as much as possible even though I've added a bit of twists here and there. I think most of all, I'd like to thank you for your honest opinions on the storyline. I have to admit though, I was writing and re-writing that last scene in the previous chapter, wondering if I was ultimately making the right decision. So, instead, I consulted a friend of mine, and she's not exactly a fan of Glee (shocking, I know), but her point of argument is that—and I quote—"as long as they're not jumping into sex, I think I'm fine with it." No harm in asking her out on a date, right? However, I truly respect your opinion and I'm really grateful for the advice because you've made a valid reason.

Unfortunately, though, I hadn't had any paranormal experiences. I'm going into this blindly, and it would help immensely to have as much information as possible. I'll be sure to PM you should I need any clarification. And Puck, I think I didn't give him enough credit in my previous chapter. Don't get me wrong, I actually adore his character, but I had to keep in mind that I was writing him in Mike's point of view, so I had to skew Puck's image a little. Santana's going to make an appearance at a later stage (hint, hint) and I can already tell that I'm going to have so much fun writing her character! You don't have to apologize for anything, really, I mean it when I say that all forms of constructive criticism are welcome, and you've helped a lot in putting things into perspective for me!

**CailinNollaig:** Hi there! Oh gosh, I don't know where to begin, probably by saying a big thank you for reading a reviewing my story! You flatter me way too much with your wonderful comments, but I'm really appreciative of it! Here's a little secret, though, this writing style is totally new to me. I don't ever write anything in a first person's point of view, and so I'm sort of experimenting with this. I'm glad you like it, though! This is going to make me sound like a hypocrite (considering I'm actually Asian), but I really do think the ChangChang thing's a bit too clichéd and stereotypical for my liking. I've always had a soft spot for dorky guys. I think it's just years of watching The O.C and Pretty Little Liars or something, but yeah, the part where Sam is "in love with Quinn" part is an exaggeration on my part because I had to write it in Mike's point of view, so opinions tend to get skewed. And here's another secret for you: I actually get really nervous whenever I work on this story. I have this entire plot in my head that I think is going to work, but I'm always cautious of it whenever I translate my ideas into writing. I mean, you guys are giving me so much love for this story, I just hope I don't disappoint. Again, I can't thank you enough for the generous comments. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Hi! Thank you so much! :D

**Mandorac:** Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you're liking the story so far!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Gosh, I know this took forever, but things have been picking up at work, so I'm not exactly as free as I used to be (yes, I write this during work because it's when all my creative juices are flowing). Either way, this is a pretty short chapter, but I hope you guys will enjoy it nonetheless!

Cheers!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 5**

**Tuesday, 8.40pm**

**/Mike Chang**

The mansion itself is not very spectacular. For a historical building, the minimalistic approach sure doesn't suit its period. One would consider it ludicrous, even, with its lack of flourish and embellishments. It's boring and has absolutely no form of personality whatsoever, but in the daytime, the white brick walls are bathed in a rich yellow, and it somehow looks rather welcoming. Now, in the dark of night, however, the paint reflects off the moonlight to form an eerie halo around the house.

Fuck, that's creepy.

I've done multiple rounds of research on this property and I've memorized everything there is to know regarding its history, but the photographs and video footages didn't do the place justice at all. I've been to countless locations before and had my fair share of experiences, but nothing quite like this. It boggles my mind, really, because if you look at it, South Oak mansion isn't the most interesting haunting ground.

"Damn, it looks like a giant tombstone," I comment out loud.

Next to me in the passenger seat, Artie nods his head in agreement. "Exactly what I thought the first time round, dude," he tells me. "Those pictures are bullshit."

The gravel crunches beneath the tires as we roll up to the front porch. I pull up behind Sam's car, and see that he and Quinn are already unloading the equipment from his trunk. I glance at the rearview mirror, checking to see that Finn hasn't been left behind. The lad has a tendency to lose his way most of the time, even without Tina and Rachel in the car to distract him. As soon as I catch sight of his headlights, I unfasten my seatbelt and get out of the vehicle, feeling the instant chills in the air. Quickly, I shut the door and jam my hands into the pockets of my jacket. At least I have half the wit to wear it tonight.

Finn comes over and helps Artie into his wheelchair as I proceed to set up the foldable table, establishing our base like always. Tina passes the bespectacled guy the laptop, and we start assembling the monitors, plugging cables after cables, working as fast as we possibly can.

"Alright, guys, listen up," Sam says. "Nothing fancy tonight, we're just going ahead with an easy investigation. We don't have time to set up the stationary cameras all over the house, so the first group will have to bring along extra mini-DVs and sound recorders, and place them at specific hotspots. Now, we don't have live time audio either, so you guys will really need to pay attention, and I can't stress this enough but please tag all of your conversations. Finn and Tina, you two are up first."

They nod their heads in acknowledgement.

"Mike and Rachel, the both of you are going in next. Artie is staying at central command, so I'm taking Quinn with me," he continues professionally.

Nobody questions his orders, even though I'm pretty sure the diplomacy behind his decision is rather skewed and a tad bit obvious. It's no secret, really, especially since they had both entered the headquarters at the same time, and it doesn't take much to piece the puzzle together. The dead giveaway, however, are the secretive smiles that they keep sharing when they think nobody's looking. I don't suppose anybody else would suspect anything, or Rachel would've already made a comment. Tina would probably start bugging Quinn with details, and Finn would be sulking in the corner. Artie and I…we'll just sit back and enjoy the show.

While Finn and Tina prepare their gear, making sure their walkie-talkies are set to the correct channel, Artie's busy labeling the respective tapes and recorders. Rachel's inspecting the tape recorders, ensuring that the batteries are fully charged, and I'm trying to make myself look busy fiddling with my mini-DV as I watch the blonde couple interact with each other in my peripheral vision. Sam's explaining the different functions on the audio recorder, giving helpful pointers and prepping her for what's to come. It looks innocent enough, nothing grossly out of the ordinary, although, I think it'll be a bit more convincing if he isn't standing so close to her.

"Alright, Sam, we're ready," Finn announces, flickering his flashlight on and off in a way that never fails to irritate the hell out of me.

"Cut that out," Rachel scolds him. "You're going to drain the battery."

Finn rolls his eyes in return, but complies nonetheless. Even he knows when it's best not to argue with the overly chatty brunette.

Sam checks his digital wristwatch. "The time now is now nine forty-five. Commencing Graveyard Shift, good luck." He gives a nod of salute to Finn and Tina.

They head on into the mansion, their figures retreating into the dark house, and I hop onto the hood of Finn's car. Rachel comes over and unnecessarily pokes my shoulder. I arch an eyebrow.

"Yes, Rachel?"

She tucks her black hair behind her ear. "I think we should go over what we're planning to do in there, you know, the mandatory EVP sessions and what not. We ought to discuss the questions that we're going to ask so as not to waste any time. And since this is our first partnership together, I'm just thinking that we should also perhaps plan the route that we're going to take so that we don't cause any form of conflict between us." She pauses to take a breath, but I can tell she's not quite done yet.

No way in hell am I going to interrupt Rachel Berry when she's on a roll. She'll probably go on for another half an hour just to tell me off, and I can't afford that.

"But Tina tells me that you're not a very vocal person, so I'm suggesting that I should probably do all the talking…"

Well, this is going to be one long night.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 10.25pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

As I glance over from my spot by my car at Mike and Rachel, I'm thinking that maybe it's not such a good idea to pair them up together after all. The brunette's talking away at a mile a minute, and I think she's worn the poor guy's ears off. He looks completely overwhelmed and confused; I don't know whether to sympathize or laugh at him because I completely understand what he's going through. I let out a chuckle at Mike's helpless state, but perhaps this could be a good opportunity for those two.

After all, an investigator has to be flexible in all situations.

"It's awfully quiet out here."

I snap my head back around and Quinn's standing in front of me with a soft smile on her pretty face. In her hands, she's holding a mini-DV and an audio recorder. I had explained to her the main functions of both devices earlier on, and she's taken upon herself to go figure the rest out, saying that she's more of a hands-on person.

"Yeah," I grin back at her. "So you've figured out the quirks in the camcorder yet?"

She nods her head. "Yup, it's not that difficult, actually, considering we're going to use only the night vision and the auto-focus."

I gesture for the mini-DV and she hands it over to me. "You learn fast, Fabray," I say in my best attempt at imitating George Clooney, hoping she won't find it cheesy like she had in the diner. "I'm impressed."

"I have to if I want to be an investigator, don't I?" she quips and moves to be next to me. We stare at each other for a bit, and I find myself getting lost in her beautiful eyes all over again. They sparkle even in the dark of the night, drawing me closer and closer. "So, what do you think is happening in there?" she asks, breaking the spell of the moment.

"Erm…" I stutter, clearing my throat as I pull away, suddenly aware of how near our lips were. "I'm not sure. An EVP session, I guess?"

Quinn takes my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, Sam," she whispers apologetically. "But we can't do that here."

I sigh, knowing that she's right. It's not professional. "I understand, Quinn."

"Besides," she adds, nudging my shoulder with hers. "Don't you usually kiss someone _after_ the date?"

Before I can answer her, though, my walkie-talkie crackles and a second later, Finn's voice resonates out of the speaker. "Hey, Finn to the team."

I click on the button. "Sam to Finn, what's up?"

"Did anybody like, walked past a window or something?" he asks.

I turn to Quinn and then pivot my head to face the other three as they simultaneously shook their heads. "Negative, Finn, we're all at central command. None of us are actually walking around. What did you see?"

"Tina and I saw a shadow pass by the window at the same time, so we're wondering if maybe one of you guys were walking around out there," Finn explains.

My forehead creases with confusion. "There shouldn't be anybody else loitering the premises, but maybe I'll go check it out. Which window is it?"

"The one nearest to the main stairwell," Finn answers.

"Okay, hang on, I'll be right there," I let him know, and then turn to the rest. "I'm going over. You guys hold the fort till I get back. Keep your eyes out for anybody, or any kind of animal wandering the grounds."

"You got it, Sam," Rachel chirps enthusiastically as Mike and Artie both give me a thumbs-up in acknowledgement.

"Can I come with you?" Quinn requests, the eagerness in her voice.

"Sure," I say, unable to really turn her down, especially since I feel the warmth spread through my body the moment her face brightens like the morning sun. Holding my hand out to take, she giggles a little and weaves her fingers through mine, and I lead her over to the side of the mansion.

The building has a lot of huge windows all around, so it's rather difficult to pinpoint the exact on the Finn was referring to. "It should be right about here," I mutter and Quinn scans the area for any sign of wildlife or trespassers.

"I don't see anybody else that could've been here," she reports.

I radio Finn through my walkie-talkie. "Sam to Finn and Tina, you guys there?"

"Finn and Tina to Sam. Are you by the window?"

"Yeah, we're outside right now."

"We?" the duo choruses.

"I'm with Quinn," I inform my teammates. "I'm not exactly sure which window is it, do you?"

"It's the sixth one from the corner," Tina replies.

Quinn and I do a quick count and we're off by three windows, so we head over, until Finn starts talking again. "We can actually hear you two walking outside," he says.

I shine my flashlight down towards the ground. "There are actually quite a load of twigs and leaves, and we're not really stomping around, so you probably would've heard something earlier if there's someone passing by the window," I tell him.

"Could you maybe do a couple of tests for us, see if we can re-create the shadow?" Finn requests.

"Sure thing, Finn." I turn to face Quinn and hand my flashlight over to her. "Could you hold this for a bit?"

"Yeah," she shrugs.

"Okay, guys, I'm going to start walking now, let me know if it's what you saw," I tell them as I pass by the window, do a turn and continue on. "How was that?"

"No, that wasn't it, Sam, and we can hear your footsteps," Tina says thoughtfully. "Could you try going a little slower, perhaps?"

"Roger that."

I try it again, slowing my pace down a bit. Halfway there, Tina interrupts me. "Are your flashlights switched on?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Could you turn it off, please?"

Before I can ask of anything, Quinn clicks both the torches off. I give her a thankful smile and carry on with the experiment. "Is that it?"

"No, I don't think so," Finn says, sounding quite dejected. "But thanks, Sam. And Quinn," he adds as an afterthought.

"Anytime."

I retrieve my flashlight from Quinn and we simultaneously switch them on, making our way back to central command.

"Well, that was interesting," Quinn comments. "Does that happen a lot?"

"Shadows?"

"Well, yeah, when you're in a place with only a flashlight at hand, you'd think you see a lot of things," I tell her. "Which is why it's great when your partner sees them too. It sort of validates your claim."

"Is that why we always go in pairs?"

"Well, it's actually more than just that," I explain. "There's the issue of safety, for example so that—"

A loud bang cuts me off and I spin around to locate the source of the sound as Quinn does the same. "Did you hear that?" I ask in a hushed whisper.

"Yeah, that was loud. Was that from inside?"

"I guess so. Maybe I should—"

This time, the walkie-talkie interrupts me as I hear Tina's frantic voice ringing in the night.

"Sam! Mike! Artie! Rachel! Quinn! Are you guys there?"

I immediately answer her. "What's wrong, Tina?"

"You need to come in right now! It's Finn!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Dum, dum, dum…Okay, the cliffhanger wasn't done like that just to be mean, I swear! I figured it's only appropriate to write what comes next in another chapter. The investigation's just starting to kick up, and I'm sure to put more action in the next update! Lots of love for all of your lovely readers and reviewers!

**s. inthehouse:** Hi there! Thank you for reading and reviewing my story! No worries on not reviewing the previous stuff! You've more than honour me with this one! I'm glad that you liked how I give the storyline to the characters. I figured that if I establish all the grounds from the start, it gives me a base to work on. I know, I was a little hesitant about their kiss in the earlier chapters, but in the end I just added that in scene on a whim because I think it felt right. Glad you liked my chapters so far! Let me know what you think of this one :D

**Mandy Hale:** Hello! Thanks for reading and reviewing! Glad you love the story so far! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**IShipFabrevans:** Awwwww! I'm gleekily in love with Fabrevans, and even though I have this whole fantasy fluff going on in my head about them that I would like to write, I know it wouldn't be realistic. Nobody rides on a magick unicorn and flies to FabrevansLand, right? I'm glad you love Sam's dad, I always feel that he's the one with the most normal upbringing in the show (besides Mike Chang, if you disregard the whole Asian stereotype), so I'm sure he had parents who disciplined well when he was younger. Hehe…considering their first date came after a kiss instead of before, I really don't think a camping trip would be realistic either. I'm agreeing with you on that! Camping is tedious work and nobody is attractive when you're pitching a tent or trying not to get grass stains on your clothes. I have yet to watch "Insidious", but I'll try to do so real soon after all the busy stuff at work clears. Thank you so much for the recommendation, as well as the helpful tips regarding the "shadows". I'll look it up whenever I get a window period because I scare myself to death every time I try to write or read stuff about the paranormal at night. I'm so happy you like Rachel because even though I love her range of vocabulary, she annoys the crap out of me. Oh, and about Judy, I'm flattered you picked that up, but I can['t say anything right now without giving away too much…hehe! Thank you so much for reading and leaving me a wonderful review! I appreciate it a lot! Let me know what you think of this update, yeah? Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Well, the last chapter was mainly to establish the past, and try to reveal the stories behind the characters, but I'm glad you liked it!

**Agustinag:** Hi there! First of all, thank you for reading and leaving a nice lengthy review! I'm glad you loved the previous chapter! Well, this update is the beginning of the investigation, and yes, you are absolutely right, writing it down is rather tough. I find myself staring at the blank Word document time and again, and not knowing how to begin! So when that happens, I start watching Ghost Hunters or Paranormal State or Ghost Lab. Also, thank you so much for sharing the awesome story! Of course, I'm always interested! Let me know if you've enjoyed this chapter! Please don't stop contributing and giving me inspirations :D Cheers!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Awww…thank you so much for the wonderful comments! I don't think anybody in the world acts like the characters in the show. Sometimes, it gets ridiculous, and I don't want that for my story, so I try to make them more human, and I'm glad you liked it! Hehe…in regards to your question, I don't think I can answer you at the moment without giving too much away (hint, hint!), but I'm glad that you're piecing things together on your own :D Thank you for reading and reviewing! This update's a little later than I'd expected, but I hope you've enjoyed it! I'll definitely keep updating, and I'm always looking forward to yours!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** Hi there! Thank you so much for the lovely comments, and reading and leaving a review! I'm glad that you're liking this story so far! Some more Quam moments in this chapter, too! :P


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Chapter 6! What happened to Finn?

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 6**

**Tuesday, 11.15pm**

**/Rachel Berry**

"What do you mean, it's Finn?" I demand over the mundane device that I so detest using, because really, couldn't we all just use our phones to communicate? We still do have connection here; it's not like we're living in the previous century or stuck in the middle of the wilderness, but never mind, there's no time for that right now. "Tina! What happened to Finn?"

"Oh, my God, Berry, you're shrieking in my ear," Mike mutters in a way that I'm sure he wanted me to hear; to which I'm trying to ignore because there's a much bigger situation going on right now. Why am I the only one panicking around here?

"Shut up, Chang. Why aren't you worried?"

"The dude's not dead," he says easily.

Frowning, I tighten my grip on the walkie-talkie, resisting the urge to whack him on the head with it. If that object were alive, it would probably be dead right now. "Is Finn alright?" I ask urgently, pacing the length of the table. From behind the laptop, Artie peers at me like I'm a crazy person. In return, I give him my coldest glare. How dare he act so nonchalant at a time like this? Finn could be seriously injured.

"Not so much," Tina answers promptly. "Sam, where are you? Send Mike over as well!"

I hear Sam's deep voice through the speakers. "I'm on it, Tina."

Mike dismounts off the car and rubs his palms together. "Duty calls," he announces, and am I sensing relief in his tone? That jerk! I really need to have a serious conversation with that guy, something revolving around his blatant disregard for a person's wellbeing. Maybe it's an Asian thing.

He jogs towards the entrance, and just as he's about to enter, Sam appears from around the corner and dashes in after him. Quinn emerges tentatively seconds after, looking a little bit lost, and I suppose this is all probably sort of overwhelming for her. I decide that I should be the thoughtful and caring teammate that I truly am, you know, and help her out. Grabbing a flashlight, I hurry over and take her hand.

"Are you okay?" I question as I lead her back to central command.

She nods but I can see the uneasiness in her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I know this has to be rather a lot to take in right now," I say, hoping to soothe her nerves. Stating from experience, the first investigation is always the most daunting. "But, I'm sure that Finn's alright," I try and assure her, guessing that perhaps it is what's bothering her.

"I hope so," she tells me sincerely. "Hey, Artie."

He takes his bespectacled eyes off the screen to give Quinn a charming smile, and I roll my eyes at how typical his manner is. A pretty girl joins the group and all the boys have to be a creep and scare her off. Shame on you, Abrams.

"Hi, Quinn," he greets her chirpily.

"Is Finn okay?" the blonde girl asks.

Artie shrugs. "He'll be fine. At least he's not dead."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" I fume, throwing my hands up in the air.

"Oh, come on, Rachel, you know Finn's not the smoothest dude around," Artie retorts in his typically sarcastic way. "He's the biggest klutz in the group. Just last week, he stubbed his toe during an investigation and almost knocked over a tripod. I swear to God if he breaks something this time round, I'm putting him on sorting duty."

I huff at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm appalled, Arthur Abrams. You clearly care more about your equipment than your friend."

Artie rolls his eyes. "Please," he snorts. "Finn's built like a battle tank, and he has the skull made of rocks. I think he'll survive."

Gasping at his insolence, I'm about to open my mouth and give him a piece of my mind when Quinn, the savior of the moment, interrupts our argument. "Hey, there they are," she announces purposefully.

I whirl around and see Finn stumbling out of the door looking absolutely dazed, one hand clutched against the left side of his head. Sam and Mike are supporting his weight from each armpit as they walk over to us. Tina follows behind them with a bunch of equipment in her arms, her face pale with worry. Instinctively, I hurry over to Finn's car and open the door to the backseat.

"Put him down here," I curtly instruct the boys.

They do so without complains and for once I'm glad they're finally listening to me. Finn hunches over, propping his elbows on his knees as he presses his forehead into the heels of his hands.

"Somebody get him a bottle of water," Sam says.

"And some aspirin," Finn adds.

"I'm on it," Quinn volunteers and I give her an appreciative smile before she goes and get the drink and medicine from Sam's car.

"What happened in there?" I wonder out loud, my tone impatient.

"He bumped his head on the door," Tina supplies.

"What?" I cry out. "How?"

"Dude," Artie snickers.

"I told you it wasn't my fault," Finn snaps, and then winces in pain. "The door sort of just flew open and hit me."

"Are you sure? Maybe it had one of those spring hinges," Sam reasons out.

"No, we've checked on those the first time round, didn't we?" Tina disproves. "And I just inspected it again. No spring, just regular hinges."

Quinn returns with the bottle of mineral water and unscrews the cap. "Here you go," she says, handing the pills and the drink over to him.

"Thanks," he mutters. Throwing the tablets into his mouth, he takes a huge gulp of water and swallows.

Sam moves closer to Quinn and then sort of whispers something into her ear. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but she's blushing a bit and reaches behind her back to pinch his side. He flinches a little, and I narrow my eyes in suspicion. Something's going on with those two, and it's not like Sam to openly flirt with a girl, especially in the middle of an important investigation. Perhaps I'm just overanalyzing things, as always.

I chew on my bottom lip, thinking. "Could it be that something startled you when you opened the door?"

"No!" Finn exclaims, now growing frustrated. "I swear to you that it wasn't me, okay? Something pushed the door and it hit me in the head."

Everyone becomes collectively quiet as we exchange glances. I know what everyone's thinking, because this happens a lot. Whenever any one of us has an experience, we always try and believe each other, even without back-up evidence. We're all trained investigators, and we're all definitely able to tell the difference between the paranormal and the delusional, but Finn's record with his clumsiness isn't doing much in his favor.

"You had your mini-DV with you, right?" Quinn speaks up.

"Quinn, you're a genius!" I proclaim, clapping my hands together as Tina passes Finn's mini-DV over to Artie, and we huddle around his laptop.

He plugs a cable into the camcorder and then attaches it to one of the USB ports at the side of his computer. A few clicks later, the screen switches to a different mode and the video starts playing. I'm squinting at the image, hating the green effects of the night vision function because everything looks like something out of a horror movie.

"You've got to fast-forward it a bit," Tina tells him.

Artie speeds up the footage and I use that moment to glance over at Finn. His eyes are closed, and he's slumped in the seat as he nurses his ache with one hand, clutching the bottled water in another. It must've been a hard hit, though, for him to still be hurting like that. I know that people always perceive him as this confused giant, and half the time, they're right, but Finn is not as naïve as he appears. After all, he's a paranormal investigator.

"Okay, there," Tina says, pointing to the screen. "Watch."

I avert my attention back to the video, and the mini-DV's pointing towards the stairwell as Finn climbs up the steps to the second floor. He pans the camera for a bit, taking in the first floor foyer. It's relatively quiet; the only sounds are their constant footsteps—until he suddenly stops and directs the shot straight at the unopened door.

"What is it, Finn?" Tina asks in a whisper.

"I thought I heard something," he tells her, turning around. His flashlight shines down at the foyer again but nothing seems amiss.

"What did you hear?"

"Like a sort of low grumbling," he replies, the camera now capturing Tina's face.

"Could've just been your stomach, Finn," she quips, summoning a round of laughter from all of us.

"You sure you didn't hear it?"

"I would have told you otherwise," she assures him, and the frame goes back up towards the same door.

They continue their trek to the second-floor landing and then the camera focuses on the doorknob just as Finn's right hand enters the screen. He reaches for it, gives it a twist and slowly pulls the door back. After that, everything just seems like a quick blur. He jerks back a bit, just as the edge of the wooden door unexpectedly swings towards the camera, knocking it askew with a loud bang.

"Ow, fuck!" he howls, the frame disoriented as he tries to find his balance.

"Oh, my God, Finn! Are you alright?" Tina cries out.

"Okay, could you rewind it, Artie?" Sam requests. "And then slow it down a bit."

"Sure," the technical advisor says with a shrug of his scrawny shoulders.

He plays the footage again, this time in half speed, but it's really hard to tell with all the instability. "Could you just put it to loop?" I ask.

"Yeah, and I think we should just keep it to normal speed because the half speed isn't helping anything right now," Sam adds on. "Maybe zoom in to that area."

"Alright," Artie complies, and we're watching the same five seconds over and over again.

About half a minute later, my eyes are starting to cross, and water up from staring at the greenish glare for too long. "I'm sorry, but I don't see it," I comment. "There isn't—"

"Wait, hold up," Quinn cuts me off. "I think I just saw something. Could you slow it down a bit but not in half speed?"

"Of course," Artie informs her.

He replays the video as per her orders, and I lean forward to try and figure it out.

"His hand is not on the knob when it swung open," Quinn points out. "Did you guys notice that?"

Sam bends forward to get closer to the screen, and I notice his hand resting on Quinn's waist. I decide not to comment on it, but I'm sure to keep that in mind, should I confront Sam later on. "Once more, Arts."

"I see it," Mike murmurs. Using his index finger, he circles the particular spot on the footage. "Right there. The door is still moving even though he had let it go."

I'm not sure why but we all gather closer around the laptop. Artie plays the footage one more time and I try my best not to blink, because as I see it now, it happens so fast, in just a split second. Quinn and Mike are right.

"Yeah, the door sort of accelerates on its own even though Finn's hands are already off the knob," Sam analyses.

"Could it be the momentum from when he first opened it?" I wonder. Being an investigator, we have to attack all form of possibilities if we're going to agree that it's something paranormal or unexplainable.

Sam shakes his head. "I don't think so. You don't see the pull from his arms, and the door swung towards him the moment he lets go of the knob."

"That's awesome," Artie remarks, shoving his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.

"No, it's not," I retort back, planting my hands on my hips. "It clearly means that the entities don't want us in there. It's trying to do people harm. The housekeeper got pushed down that stairs, and now Finn gets hit in the head. It's malicious!"

"Rachel's right," Sam says, the seriousness evident in his voice. "It appears to be really active in there right now, and we've got to be careful. I'm looking forward to a lot of EVPs and experiences. We've got to figure out what it wants. Mike and Rachel, you're up next."

I nod my head with outmost gusto. Mike heads over to go get our equipment and I grab the walkie-talkie before joining him. "Should we take the thermal with us?" I ask him passing the gadget over.

"No, I don't think that's necessary," he tells me. "We're not outdoors. And I think there are too many reflective surfaces in the mansion. We're only going to confuse ourselves."

"Good point," I agree, and take the KII EMF meter instead. I'm getting the butterflies in my stomach as I double-check the device and mentally prepare myself for the investigation because this doesn't seem like any other times. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he answers. "You're not flipping out again, are you?"

I blink at him and wonder if it's another Asian thing. I have always known that Mike's a really intelligent person. He does the research for the team and the rest of the really smart stuff, but he's usually so quiet and reserved. "It's a bit unnerving," I admit to him.

"We'll be fine," he informs me with a smile. "I think you might scare the entity off the moment you start talking."

My mouth drops open in disbelief. That jerk! "That's not—"

"Save that for later, alright?" he snickers, patting me on my bicep.

"Are you two ready?" Sam calls out from the group still surrounding the laptop.

Taking a deep breath, I compose myself before turning to face them. "Yes, we are," I professionally reply my team leader.

Mike gives them a thumbs-up and tucks the walkie-talkie into the back pocket of his denim jeans. Simultaneously, we turn on our flashlights, and he hands me a mini-DV. I slide my palm into the safety strap and switch it on. Sam comes over and stands between us, clamping his hands on both our shoulders.

"Be careful in there, alright?" he tells us, his face solemn and guarded. "I'm not sure why it wasn't as active on our first round of investigation, but it seems like something had sparked the activities tonight, and perhaps that's where you might want to start. Don't linger on the stairwell for too long either, move on and cover more area. Get it to interact with you. Provoke if need be, but always be careful, okay?"

"Of course, Sam," I say.

"Contact central command immediately if something happens," he reminds. "Nothing is more important than the safety of my team. Rachel, are you okay with this?"

I put on my bravest face. "Yes, I am."

He nods his head, convinced somewhat even though I can see the hesitation in his eyes.

"I'm fine, Sam," I reassure him, although the butterflies in my stomach are morphing into a stampede of horses. "I want to know what's in that mansion and why it's trying to hurt people."

Sam gives me a smile. "Alright, then. Good luck to the both of you."

Inhaling another mouthful of air, I smooth out my hair and allow Mike to lead the way into the mansion.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, so there are not so much Fabrevans moments in this chapter, just that small bits where Rachel had caught, and not so interesting in terms of an investigation, but at least we got to find out what happened to Finn, right? Mike and Rachel's investigation is up next! It's half done already. I just felt that it should hold a chapter on its own, which it why I didn't plonk it in with this update :D

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the cliffhanger!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Hehe! Aww…thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked all the chapters so far :D

**Quam314159:** Hello! Well, thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! Don't worry, Finn's a strong guy, I'm sure he'll be fine :D Well, usually, I wouldn't think a person would be put on an investigation at such an early stage, but it's an urgent case, and Quinn has to start somewhere, right? Cheers! Hope you liked this chapter!

**Mandorac:** Hi! I'm glad you liked the minor details of the story! I did try researching a little on the necessary equipment that paranormal investigators use, because I thought it would make the story more believable. I know I'm putting Quinn's side of the story in the dark for the moment but there's a special reason for it :P

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! I'm going to reply you as a whole since you've reviewed from chapter 1, so first of all, I want to thank you for taking time to read my story and review it. I'm glad you're liking it so far, and your thoughts about Quinn being the babysitter is rather interesting, but unfortunately she's not, but someone else will be…At the moment, no Asian love or Finchel love because I just want to focus on the Fabrevans of it…sorry to disappoint you, though, but hopefully you'll still like the story!

**IShipFabrevans:** I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, really, but as you can tell, Finn is all right. He's tough; he'll live. Well, I've decided to write this chapter in her point of view, and hopefully give her some credibility of some sort. It was really interesting to write because obviously, she doesn't think that she's annoying, so yeah! Oh dear God, I wouldn't even think of abandoning this fic! I have another story pending and I've had it going to four years, but there's no way I'm letting it go. Some stories just need extra care and love :P


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **First of all, a big thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this story thus far! I think the previous chapter has the most reviews at the moment, and it really made my days at work!

And now, presenting, chapter 7!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 7**

**Wednesday, 12.05am**

**/Mike Chang**

The main entrance door gives a slight creak as I push it open and I wince a little at the sound. This being my first investigation in the mansion, I'm a little more cautious of my steps. I enter the house to the main lobby area and turn to face Rachel.

"Would you rather lead the way?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, I believe that you should do it," she says with certainty. "It'll be a good thing to have a fresh perspective of the house."

Sounds good to me. At least that's one rare moment that Rachel Berry doesn't want to dictate. "Alright, so why don't we do a quick sweep of the stairwell?" I suggest, since the most recent activity revolves around that area. "Make sure that there aren't anything on the floor that could've triggered it to open like that, and check the room out."

"Okay," she nods, and I'm surprised that it's all she has to offer.

I shine the light around the lobby, doing a quick sweep of the premise with my camera. "Hello? Anybody home?" I ask out loud, my voice echoing off the walls. God, the acoustics are terrible. Every single sound would be amplified in this house. "I'm Mike Chang and my friend here's Rachel, and we're not here to hurt you in any way. We just need some answers. If there's anybody in the lobby with us, could you make a sound?"

We pause for a moment, waiting for a response, but everything's just quiet. The air is kind of unsettling, like a lingering presence, or the impression that something's about to happen—the calm before the storm if you will. Rachel would call it an Asian thing but for me, it's basic intuition.

"Let's just move on and check out the stairwell," Rachel proposes.

Keeping our footsteps as light as possible to eliminate unnecessary noise, we pad over to the foot of the stairs. Our flashlights illuminate the steps and Rachel trains the KII EMF meter in front of her as we climb up to the second floor landing.

"It's an average point one, point two on the stairs," Rachel reports, tracing the parameters of the door. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Shall we do a short EVP session before we go into the room?"

"Sure."

Again with the short answers, but I guess she's a little ruffled up after that whole incident earlier on.

Leaning over the railing, I pull the audio recorder out of my pocket and pan my camera down at the flight of stairs. "This is Mike and Rachel. We're in the South Oak Mansion, up at the second-floor landing, commencing EVP session."

"Was anybody up here earlier on?" Rachel speaks up, her voice clipped and clear. "Somebody pushed the housekeeper down these stairs earlier on, and our friend Finn was hit by the door. Did any of you push it? If it was you, could you make a sound, or talk to us through this device?"

There's a slight shuffling noise.

"Wait, did you hear that?" I whisper to Rachel.

"Yeah, like something moving?" she murmurs.

"Uh-huh," I confirm. "Where's it coming from?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Hang on, I think I hear it again—"

"Shh…"

We pause, and true enough, there's that sound again, but with all the crazy acoustics of the place, it's quite impossible to pinpoint the exact source.

"Is that you moving around here?" I say, raising my voice a little. "Could you come over to us, please? We'd like to have a nice chat with you."

"Mike, I just had a sudden spike in the KII," Rachel lets me know. "It was just for a split second."

"If that was you, could you do it again, please?"

We keep our eyes on the device, waiting, and suddenly two lights go off. Rachel gasps, her eyes growing into perfect circles.

"Once more for confirmation, please," I say.

Almost immediately, we get a reaction as the same two bulbs light up again. Since it's too much of a coincidence, I guess this would be a good time to start the important questions.

"Okay, thanks for lighting up the KII for us," I begin, holding my audio recorder nearer to the meter. "Is there one of you here with us now?"

The device stays static for a few seconds.

"Are there more than one of you here with us?" I try again.

Instantly, we get a reply.

"Why are you still here?" Rachel asks.

And then there's a loud knock coming from inside the room.

We exchange glances. "You heard that, right?" I pose my question to Rachel.

"I heard a knock. Is that what you heard?"

I glance at the door. "I think it came from inside the room."

Placing my hand on the metal knob, I give it a twist. The door has a certain weight to it, nothing that a slight breeze would deter, and as I open it, I realize that a lot of force would be needed for it to swing like it did with Finn. We enter the room, and then start investigating for anything or anyone that might actually be inside to create that noise. I shine my flashlight around, searching for anything that may be out of place.

"Hello? Anybody in here with us?" Rachel calls out. "If you're in here, could you give us a sign?"

We wait for a full minute, but the knocking sound doesn't return.

"Should we try and debunk the door issue?" Rachel wonders. "Even though Tina said that she'd checked it earlier, maybe she was in a rather panicked state to do a thorough experimentation. We should try and explore the possibilities."

"Right, sure," I reply.

"Why don't you try stomping around? See what it would take for it to move on its own," she says, gesturing around with one hand.

I walk back and forth in front of the door, and when it doesn't budge, I make my steps more deliberate, clomping noisily in and out of the room. It's still not moving, so I'm taking it to another level and I start jumping around.

"No, I don't think that's going to work," I tell her. "What if we just try opening and closing the door? That way we can see if any form of momentum would affect the way the door moves."

"Good idea," Rachel approves.

After a few tries, we've come to a conclusion that there's absolutely no way the door could've swung the way it did without an external force.

I decide it's time we move on, since we've been here for quite some time now. "Why don't we head up to the master bedroom? We're not getting much here."

As if on cue, there's a sudden thump from the corner of the room, somewhere right behind me.

"Did you hear that? Sounds like something heavy just fell."

I spin on my heels and shine my flashlight over the spot, seeing a side table with a classic Victorian-like lamp on it—nothing out of the ordinary.

"I heard something, but I can't really tell from where I am," Rachel tells me.

Walking over to it, I start searching the area.

And then something catches my eye. I hold the flashlight between my teeth and bend down to pick the object up from the floor. Rachel comes over as I hold it up, turning it around in my hand. It's made of ceramic, smooth and delicate, with pastel colours highlighting certain features.

"What is it?" she asks.

I squint at it for some time before passing the figurine to her.

"It looks like an angel."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 12.25am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Finn's fast asleep in the car, his arms curled up into his chest, legs dangling out and snoring like a buzz saw, so I guess the aspirin's working. The dude is as big as a bear, but one pill can knock him out faster than he can spell anything. There's a huge reddish bump on his forehead from where he was hit by that damn door, but other than that he seems peaceful.

Tina and Artie are getting a head start on the video and audio analysis, doing a quick sweep to see if there are any valuable information that we can use for later, and Quinn is on her cellphone in a heated argument with somebody. I can't really tell what it's about because she has her back to me, but she's waving her hands around in the air, pacing back and forth, so I reckon it's not something pleasant. Even then I can't help admiring the woman. Her golden blonde hair is glistening in the moonlight, dancing in the breeze like threads of gold, and my God, she's turning me into a hopeless sap.

Eventually, she hangs up the call and I figure it's safe to go talk to her.

"Hey, you okay?"

She does one of her trademark shrugs. "Yeah," she says dismissively. "That was my roommate. She's just calling to ask where I am."

"Your roommate?" I must look skeptical because she giggles.

"Santana Lopez," she explains. "We share an apartment up at Westville Avenue."

"You don't stay on campus?" I ask in slight disappointment.

Quinn shakes her head. "No, 'cause Santana doesn't go to San-State U. She's in Davinham's School for the Performing Arts. She wants to be on Broadway one day."

"How do you girls know each other?"

She laughs then. "It's a really long story."

"Do tell," I say, stuffing my hands into the front pockets of my pants. "After all, we're still on a date, right?"

"Okay, okay," she good-naturedly relents, the grin still on her beautiful face. Heedlessly, she lowers herself to the ground and sits with her legs tucked primly beneath her. She glances up at me, her hazel eyes drawing me in, and then pats the empty spot beside her. Just when I think she can't be any more perfect.

Without hesitation, I seat myself down next to her on the grass patch, stretching my legs out in front of me and propping my weight on my hands, and yet I can't seem to tear my gaze away from her. She's toying with the material of her white cotton dress, gnawing on her bottom lip, so I shift a little closer to her and wait patiently for her to begin.

"Well, San and I are high school best friends," she pauses for a second, and even under the dim lights, I can see the colour rising in her cheeks. "We were in the cheerleading squad together."

"You were a cheerleader?" I smirk.

"I was captain, actually," she tells me, a hint of pride in her tone amidst the embarrassment. "Santana was co-captain, and God, we used to compete with each other all the time. She's just a ruthless bitch during practices, too. We both wanted to be the best, the one to climb to the top of the pyramid, and we'd do anything and everything we could. She'd steal my uniform; I'd tie her shoelaces together; it was a constant catfight."

I chuckle at that, imagining her in a short skirt, jumping around with pompoms and doing cartwheels. What a sight that must've been for those teenage boys, and I curse at my misfortune of never been allowed to witness it. "So what happened?"

"It happened during the practice run for Nationals," she says, a nostalgic look upon her features. "I was to execute a rather difficult stunt, but we've only practiced it a few times and I wasn't very confident of it. Santana was my base, but every flyer was assigned two spotters. Somehow or another, I slipped off the top, and I was eight feet up in the air, and San noticed that I was going to hit the floor without my back-up spotters, so she dove in and cushioned my fall."

"Wow."

"Yeah, she broke her arm and had to sit out of Nationals, and it crushed her so bad but I was eternally grateful," Quinn continues and I'm getting lost in the sweet lull of her voice. "We didn't win that year, unfortunately, because her replacement had to left feet, but you should've been there to hear her torment the poor girl. It was hilarious! That freshman was so traumatized, she totally quit the squad."

"What did you do?" I wonder out loud, curious to hear her side.

"Nothing," she shrugs again. "Because you can't stop Santana when she's being all H.B.I.C."

I quirk an eyebrow.

"Head Bitch In Charge," Quinn clarifies as though reading my mind. "You know, the Queen Bee? I'm sure you had one back in high school."

"Oh, yeah. It was Mercedes Jones," I share, and just saying that name brings a shudder through my body. Those bad memories begin flooding in; all four years of living hell. "Captain of the Glee Club."

Quinn tilts her head questioningly. "What's a Glee Club?"

"It's like a group of kids singing," I tell her, raking my brains for the right term. "I think it's called show choir? They perform at any chance they can get."

"Oh, that sounds cool."

"Well, only if you're actually in it," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Mercedes was a—pardon my French—fucking bitch of a diva. She has her minions do the dirty work for her, and if she feels that you're not worthy of existing in her breathing space, she'll have you _slushie-ed_."

"Slushie-ed?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I mumble. The icy cold feeling of the beverage is still ringing deep in my skin from the countless incidents, and I hate it. "It's really unpleasant."

She nods in understanding. "Santana put Jell-O in my safety shorts once. It was horrible."

I burst out laughing, because no matter how old you are, that practical joke never gets stale. "I did that to Finn just last month as a birthday dare," I confess sheepishly. "All day, he looked like someone had just given him a prostate exam."

Her melodic giggles are contagious, and I think I can just sit here all night and listen to her, but then I realize that she's not done with her story yet. "So how did you and Santana end up being best friends?"

She daintily tucks a few strands of stray hair behind her ear. "Well, she broke her arm, right, but even so, she's always there for practices. During the games, she'd sit on the sidelines with us and cheer the players on. So when she recovered from her injury, I gave her my spot."

And once again, I'm astounded. "You did?"

"It was the least I could do after what she'd done for me," she murmurs. "And from then on, it's like an unspoken truce between us."

"Quinn Fabray, I can't believe you were a cheerleader," I snicker.

It's her turn to roll her eyes at me even though she doesn't seem the least bit offended. Playfully, she whacks me on the bicep and huffs. "What club were you in?"

"I've always been interested in the paranormal," I say, leaning back to gaze up at the night sky. "My high school didn't really have a club for that, so I sort of hung around with the Astronomy geeks. Turns out, I'm actually one of them, but the passion for the paranormal never left, and I decided to pick it up. I asked around, made new friends, got to know more about it—"

"And now you're the lead investigator of Project Paranormal," she finishes for me, a smile playing on her rosy lips.

"Bingo." I turn my head to face her. Effortlessly, her beauty mesmerizes me. "So what's got a cheerleader like you so interested in the paranormal?"

Quinn hesitates for a moment, her brows furrowing as she ponders. "I'm looking for answers."

Well, aren't we all? That's the whole reason I'm an investigator.

"You have to be a little more specific—"

"Sam!" Tina yells out, interrupting my sentence.

I groan, running my finger through my hair. Can't a guy catch a break?

Sighing, I reply, "what is it?"

"I think you need to hear this."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, so voila! Chapter 7! I know, another bloody cliffhanger, but really, it has to end there, and it's not because I'm being deliberately mean, but it's a good ending to the update, no? Don't hate me! I did put in a really nice Fabrevans scene, right?

**Fabrevansgleek:** Hi there! Thank you for reading and reviewing!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** Hello! Aww…thank you so much for your wonderful comments! I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans moments, even though it was like, a smidge of it. I have a tiny confession: I always, always write this story in the daytime. I can't write it at night because I'll end up scaring myself, honest! It's less terrifying to imagine the whole thing when the sky isn't dark outside. Thank you for reading and reviewing my story! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** I had so much fun writing the previous chapter in Rachel's POV. She's such an interesting character to play around with! I'm glad you picked up on the subtle stuff, like Sam's comment on the paranormal activity in the house! –wink, wink- I hope this first part of Mike and Rachel's investigation sits well with you. It's a little short, but I assure you, it's significant :D It's actually a pleasure replying to your reviews! Thank you for sparing me your time and just reading my story, it's the least I can do!

**Tomorrow . Will . Be . Kinder. :** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and a big welcome to the story! I'm glad you're liking the concept so far. It's always been something that I've been toying around in my head but I've never felt ready to work on it till recently. I just hope I'm doing both sides (Glee and the paranormal investigators) justice, though. LOL! Stupid Finn is really fun to write for me, I'm glad you liked it!

**Alli2345:** Thank you so much for reviewing and the wonderful comments!

**RJRRAA:** It always makes me smile just how many 'O's you put in your review, because it's so adorable! LOL! I'm glad you're liking it so far!

**Quam314159:** Awwww…thank you so much! Hope you like this chapter! It has Fabrevans in it!

**Agustinag:** Hi there! No worries about not reading it before, I mean, you did read it eventually, right? LOL! And I totally understand about the exams thing. And yes, to quench your Fabrevans thirst, I've included a nice long scene with Sam and Quinn. Hope you liked it!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Okay! So, I actually ran out of things to write here…

On to chapter 8!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 8**

**Wednesday, 12.40am**

**/Mike Chang**

"It's awfully quiet now," I murmur as we investigate down at the cellar where Harley was believed to have locked his wife in. It's cold and dusty, and there are way too many cobwebs hanging around. The place is relatively empty, except for the wooden bedframe at a corner, which I suppose used to be what Jane had slept on. We've been in here for fifteen minutes now, spending majority of the time trying to hold an EVP session and do whatever we can to create any form of contact, but nothing's really happening.

In fact, the closest we're getting so far, is Rachel flipping out each time a cobweb brushes her head.

"I still can't believe how anybody would do something so horrible," Rachel remarks as she shines the light on the uneven stoned walls. "This place is just so depressing. I would've gone crazy."

It takes all I have to refrain myself from telling her that she already is. Okay, that's a harsh thing to say, but she does drive me insane with her incessant babbling and unnecessary comments about my Asian heritage.

"I guess she did," I say with a shrug. "After all, she did hang herself."

"That's just so sad," Rachel laments. "I just can't imagine what she had to go through. Is it weird to you that they found her in the master bedroom instead of down here?"

Now that I think of it…

"I suppose," I tell her, and now my head is reeling with possibilities. Why hadn't I pick up on that before? "You make a good point, Rachel. That does sound fishy."

She looks proud of herself for being able to decipher something that I hadn't, which, apart from it being a huge bruise to my ego, gives me a whole new respect for the brunette. Half the time, she blurts things out without filtering them in her brains, but I suppose when she's not being an annoying pain in the ass, Rachel's got a good grip on our cases.

"Glad I could be of help," she chirps.

"Look, maybe we should head back to central command," I suggest, glancing down at my wristwatch. "Doesn't seem to be anything here, and I think we've pretty much covered the whole house."

Rachel nods her head in agreement. "Yeah, I think so too."

I walk over to the heavy oak door and hold it open, ushering for her to go out first since she obviously looks uncomfortable being in that crummy space.

"No!"

"Shit!" I flinch and whip my head back around just as I feel an icy shiver run down the side of my arm. My heart's pounding in my chest and I immediately check my surroundings for unwarranted objects. That was fucking insane. Pointing my flashlight into the dark cellar, my eyes dart every inch of space I can see, only to find it as empty as ever.

"Hey, you okay?" Rachel asks, concerned. "What's wrong?"

Reluctantly, I turn to face her. "Did you hear that?"

Her brows scrunch together in confusion. "Hear what?"

"Someone just shouted, like right in my ear," I explain. "And then right after that, something sort of touches my arm."

She gasps, her eyes widening. "What? Really?" Automatically, she checks the ceiling and the floor for debris that could probably have fallen on me. "I don't see anything. Did you just have an experience?"

"I think so," I breathe. That was so fucking intense, I mean; I've never had an experience before, not like this. "Jesus, scared the crap out of me. It was really loud scream, too. You didn't hear it?"

"No, I didn't," she confirms. "Maybe we should rewind the mini-DV and see if it picks up on anything."

My hand is trembling a little as I hold the camcorder up, and I'm not even sure if I'm shaking because I'm thrilled at the thought of experiencing something paranormal or if I'm nervous at its implication. I rewind the tape a bit and then hit the play button, keeping it close to my ear as Rachel shifts nearer to listen. I'm practically holding my breath now, anticipating that moment, until I hear myself curse through the speakers.

"It's not there," Rachel mumbles in disappointment.

"Fuck!" I hiss, a wave of frustration crashing down on me, because then there's no verification or back up to my experience. "Fuck!"

"Look, maybe it was just the wind," she says in an attempt to calm me down, but her patronizing manner only fuels my frustration.

"There is no wind!" I snap. "We're in the basement, in a cellar with four solid walls and no windows. What do you think?"

She stares at me with her mouth agape, and I'm mentally counting to ten, to try and calm myself down. Her initial shock evaporates to a wounded expression and I can see the hurt in her eyes. However, she quickly composes herself and fixes a look of indifference, sticking her nose up in the air.

"Whatever, Mike," she flatly replies, making me feel incredibly guilty.

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finer. Why are girls so complicated? No, wait, why do I have to be stuck with Miss Rachel Prissy-and-Ridiculous Berry? She spins on her heels to leave, but I quickly grab her wrist, stopping her before she can go anywhere.

"Hey, okay, I'm sorry," I apologize, sounding as sincere as possible. "I was being an ass, but it's been a long day, and I'm just pissed off that I didn't catch what might be our best evidence yet."

Her features soften a bit. "Is that an Asian thing as well?"

Oh, Lord, there it is again. What does my origin have anything to do with this is beyond me, but I don't want to be mean to her again, so I figure I should keep my retort to myself for now.

"I'm joking, you know," she informs me.

We fall into this awkward moment and I'm not exactly sure how to react to that, so I just clear my throat. "Right," I croak out.

The walkie-talkie crackles just then, and Sam's voice fills the silent void.

"Sam to Mike and Rachel."

I pass my flashlight over to Rachel and fish the device from my back pocket. "Go for Mike," I say into the receiver.

"Are you guys alright in there?" my team leader asks.

"Yeah, we're fine," I answer him. "We're about to wrap it up, actually."

"Okay, great, then. We'll see you in a bit."

"Over and out." I slide the gadget back into my pants and Rachel hands me my flashlight. "Come on, let's get out of here."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 12.55am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

It's like a deep growl; a sort of low guttural sound so animalistic and carnal, it can't possibly come out of a person.

"I'm hearing that for the twentieth time and it's still giving me Goosebumps," Tina says as she furiously rubs the length of her arm.

Rachel turns to me, her eyes as wide as saucers. "I just got the chills!" she exclaims. "That's really creepy!"

I glance around the group at the others, noticing how Mike has this apprehensive look on his face as though he's trying to churn out reasonable explanations in his head; or how Finn is hardly bothered because he's still groggy from the medication; or the adorable way Quinn's gnawing on her bottom lip, her hazel eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"Someone clearly doesn't want us here," Artie states, hitting the pause button on his laptop, effectively stopping the audio loop. "That didn't sound friendly at all."

"You don't say, Captain Obvious," Rachel sasses, to which the technical manager clearly doesn't appreciate. He shoots her a glare, but if there is one thing Rachel is good at, it would be the power of ignorance.

"Dude, I'm just glad I didn't hear it while I was still in there," Finn slurs with a dopey smirk. "I would've jumped the bandwagon and gotten the hell out of here."

"That's not how you use that expression, Finn," Rachel rolls her eyes. "But I understand the sentiment behind it."

Finn looks confused. Coupled with the brunette's know-it-all attitude, he's also unable to process such big words, and I feel for him. A lifetime of dyslexia can be quite a bitch too. "Rachel, now is really not the time."

Thankfully she takes the hint and shuts up.

"You okay, Quinn?" I ask. She hasn't uttered a single word in the past fifteen minutes, and I desperately hope that all this does not traumatize her.

"Yeah, I'm good," she mutters, her gaze not leaving the screen.

"Hey, you don't have to go through with this if you don't want to," I tell her softly. "I mean, if this bothers you in any way, or you think you're not ready, you don't have to do it."

Quinn finally turns to face me, those incredible eyes sparkling in the twilight. She shakes her head, her blond hair dancing with the motion. "No, I want to do this. It's just—I'm speechless."

As discreetly as possible, I shuffle over so that I'm directly behind her. "You sure?" I murmur, leaning forward so that I'm right next to her ear.

She cranes her neck around and angles her head to properly look at me, her long eyelashes fluttering as she blinks. Fuck my life, she's beautiful. "Yeah," she says. "I want to know what's going on in there."

I stare at her for a while longer, and damn it, I can't help myself as I trail my eyes down the bridge of her nose and settle on her luscious mouth. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, coating them in a light sheen and suddenly I'm finding it extremely difficult to breathe. Someone coughs inconspicuously, and I'm jolted back to the present, realizing that we're in mixed company. Pulling away from her, I awkwardly clear my throat, feeling the heat whoosh up in my cheeks.

"Okay, so…"

"I should probably get our mini-DVs," Quinn mumbles and practically flees the scene to grab our equipment, leaving me with my five curious teammates.

"What?"

"Dude—" Artie begins, but I raise my palm to cut him off.

"Don't even," I say, shooting all of them a look before walking over to lend Quinn a hand. She's holding the camcorder in one hand, and juggling a flashlight and audio recorder with another as she helplessly glances down at her outfit. I'm trying to hold back a chuckle but it comes out anyway, and Quinn glares at me in return. "I suppose you should wear pants the next time round."

"In my defense, I didn't know a date entails an investigation," she huffs dramatically.

Taking a quick peek over my shoulders, I make sure that nobody else is watching us before I move over and give her a chaste kiss on the cheek, simultaneously retrieving the audio recorder from her grasp. She giggles and then playfully shoves me away.

"Sam…" she warns.

"I couldn't resist," I tell her, pocketing the device.

After grabbing an extra flashlight and a KII EMF meter, I double-check my mini-DV and ensure that I've got a walkie-talkie with me. Quinn has gone back to join the rest of the team, and she's nodding at something Tina says.

"Alright," I announce, walking over. "I'm good to go. You ready, Quinn?"

She takes a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 1.20am<strong>

**/Tina Cohen-Chang**

"Okay, something's going on with those two," Rachel confidently remarks the moment Sam and Quinn are out of earshot, looking like she's discovered the big bang theory or something, and I'm suppressing another groan.

Whose idea was it to pull her into the team, again? Oh wait, that was me. I had to be momentarily insane or totally high, but damn she needs to stop talking because my head's starting to throb just listening to her speak. Don't get me wrong, Rachel is actually a really good friend, I mean, she's loyal and she had always been there when I needed her, which I suppose was the initial reason I got her to join Project Paranormal. On the other hand, she's a ruthless busybody, and if you listen to her long enough, you'll start to associate her voice with a dying cat.

I hate cats.

"Well, look who's Captain Obvious now," Mike jabs.

She whips her head around, her black hair flying all over the place and slapping me in the face. "I was merely pointing out an observation," she calmly replies although her body language is anything but. "You don't have to be so snarky about it."

"Let it go, Rachel," I sigh. "We're all aware of Sam and Quinn's constant flirtation with each other."

"Oh."

"Constant flirtation?" Finn scoffs. "Are you sure it's not just Sam and his deluded mind?"

I'm surprised he knows what 'deluded' means. Maybe the whole incident with the door has finally knocked some brain cells into his thick skull.

"No need to be a jealous bitch, Finn," Mike retorts in a bored manner. Sometimes, it seems like we're dealing with two toddlers.

Finn gives him the death glare. "Shut it, Chang."

Touchy.

"Come on, you two. Don't tell me you guys are going to argue over this," I butt in because someone has to diffuse the bomb before it explodes and starts World War III. "We're a team, remember?"

"I think they make a really cute couple," Rachel comments. "Kind of like Barbie and Ken."

Finn snorts. "How cute."

"Alright, you know what?" I interrupt once again, waving my arms in the air. "This is none of our business, okay, so let's just drop it."

"Agreed," Mike replies.

"Agreed," Artie chimes in.

I arch an eyebrow pointedly at the brunette. "Rachel?"

"Well, it's just, you know how Sam is with the girls," she begins, and I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. "I just think we should help him out. Quinn seems like a really nice girl."

"Nice?" Artie snickers, adjusting his glasses. "She's a freaking Goddess!"

"It's those eyes, man," Mike says, staring off into space.

"Do you think she likes him back?" Rachel asks, her eyes huge with excitement.

I scrunch my nose up. "Wait, I thought we were going to drop this."

Rachel makes a big show of rolling her eyeballs. "Oh, come on, Tina."

"No," I tell her, holding up my index finger. "No. We're in the middle of an investigation."

"Sour puss," Artie mutters.

I slap the back of his head, causing his spectacles to go askew. "Jerk."

"Wait, you guys," Finn calls out, averting our attention back to the laptop. "Is that a shadow figure?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, some Fabrevans there, and more investigation…this is a filler chapter to me. Don't ask me why, it's a nagging feeling. Either way, I'm excited to officially start on Sam and Quinn investigation! Whoots! Next chapter, baby!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** Hello! Awww…thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and leaving those really wonderful comments! I'm glad that you found the scene creepy because that was the intent, anyway, right? Well, here's a small hint, actually, the story is rated 'M' for a reason, so do expect the Fabrevans scenes to escalate in the future chapters. Hint, hint! My updates depend on my workload in the office since I write this during the day. I refuse to write this story at night. It will scare the crap out of me. I guess the dead giveaway on the Quinn situation is that I haven't written anything in her point of view yet, so hopefully that's another piece of the puzzle to uncover. I appreciate everybody who's taken time to review, so I like to return the favour and reply, and it's really nice to sort of interact with the readers to get feedback and what not too, so if anything I owe it to my reviewers who's given me the motivation to continue writing :D

**Mandorac:** Hi there! I'm so glad you enjoyed the Fabrevans scene. I know it wasn't much and all, but I think it'll be inappropriate if I write a scene where they suddenly make out in front of the team, right? Not to mention how totally ridiculous that would sound, but yeah, I'm just glad you liked what I've written :D Thank you so much for taking time to read and review! It's very much appreciated! :D

**Alli2345:** Awwww…thank you so much for the wonderful comments! I'm glad you're liking it so far! Cheers!

**Fabrevansgleek:** LOL! I'm just glad you took the time to review! Great to know that you loved the previous chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hi! I'm so glad you love the story so far! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Burnthiscityxx:** I know what you mean! I freak myself out whenever I write this at night, so I don't to that now! LOL! First of all, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It means a lot to me because I absolutely LOVE your stories! I watch a lot of those documentaries like Ghost Hunters, Paranormal State and Destination Truth, so everything I know so far, I got them from those shows, so you might find some similarities. I like exploring the different characters and how they perceive certain situations, I mean, if I have to drone on and on about Sam and his feelings for Quinn, I'll end up in the next Twilight movie (no offense if you're a Twilight fan). I don't want to do the whole stereotypical Asian thing, you know, so I thought I could mix them up and see how their dynamics work, so I'm glad you thought it was a good mix :D You pick up on some really good points about Quinn, and there definitely is a reason as to why I haven't written anything in her point of view yet. I can't tell you anything right now without spoiling it for you, so I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we? ;P

**Quam314159:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you're liking it so far!

**IShipFabrevans:** Hi there! Hehe…I'm glad you found chapter 6 pretty funny. It was a blast writing it, actually! Don't need to apologize for anything, really! To me, it's an honour that people would spend the time to read, let alone review my work, so if anything, I can't thank you enough! Well, to answer your question, the main couple is Sam and Quinn. I'm actually trying to refrain from adding any other couples because I don't want to take the spotlight away from them, but you'll never know, right? :P Well, this chapter isn't the Sam and Quinn investigation, though, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we did get to find out what Tina discovered, and something else happened to Mike and Rachel in the mansion. Also, we leave this chapter with a somewhat cliffhanger (again), so hopefully I've filled this chapter nicely. Honestly, I have not watched a single episode of AHS. It's not that I don't think it'll be a nice show, but I've been tied down recently, and I've got a few other shows to catch up on before they all go on hiatus. However, perhaps once those shows go on hiatus, I might decide to give AHS a shot :D


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Okay! Sorry for the long wait! Work was crazy and my words wouldn't flow, but I was determined to get this up and running, so here it is! My apologies in advance if certain things don't sound right. I'm writing this after two glasses of wine, which is a terrible idea, but it got me through 5 pages in the Word doc :D

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 9**

**Wednesday, 1.25am**

**/Sam Evans**

"You do realize they're talking about us, right?"

The gravel crunches beneath our feet as I chuckle in reply. Glancing over my shoulder back at my group, I notice how they're still going on about it, their voices ringing high in the night. "They're not exactly the most discreet bunch of people," I tell her. "But at least they're not squabbling, so I'm actually grateful for that."

She arches an eyebrow and tilts her head slightly upwards to look at me, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I think they're pretty nice," she says as we climb up the small set of marble stairs to the main porch.

We pause in front of the huge entrance door. "I didn't say they're not," I counter back good-naturedly, reaching for the old-fashioned bronze handle. "Sometimes it feels like I'm running a kindergarten."

Quinn giggles in return, her child-like happiness doing all kinds of funny in my stomach, and for a fleeting moment I almost forget why we're here, standing in front of a mansion. All I want to do right now is grab her and kiss her senseless, and then sweep her off her feet, like literally, you know, with the whole carrying her bridal style in a super macho way, then whisking her some place romantic and—

"Should we go inside?" she asks, jolting me out of my reverie.

I let out an awkward cough and clear my throat, feeling the heat creeping into my face. God, why do I have to be so lame? "Yeah, sure." I croak out as I scramble to open the door. "After you."

"Thanks," she whispers, cautiously entering the house.

I hit the red button on my mini-DV to start the recording, and I see Quinn do the same. The door clicks shut with an audible thump and automatically my investigator mode kicks in. We shine our flashlights around the lobby area, taking in the surroundings as I allow Quinn some time to adjust herself to the darkness. She seems calm enough, I suppose, for a rookie, and then turns to me expectantly.

"So, now what?" she wonders, her brows furrowing.

"Why don't you start?" I suggest. "I'm giving this session to you. I want to see how you work, so that I can tell you what you need to improve on."

She nods her head, but I can tell that she's nervous about this arrangement. "Okay," she says, her voice wavering and uncertain. "But you'll—"

"I'll be here with you," I assure her. "I'll help you along the way and give you pointers now and then, but you're going to steer the ship."

"But how do I begin?"

"It's always good to introduce yourself," I tell her. "So that you sound friendly and approachable."

"Alright," she shrugs and takes a deep breath. "Hello? Erm…I'm Quinn and he's Sam, and we're not going to hurt you or anything, but we'd just like to know a few things."

I decide to help her out a bit, because she sounds kind of lost, unsure of exactly whom—or what—she's supposed to talk to. "If there's anybody here with us, could you make a noise, or give us a sign, or come forward and touch one of us."

Quinn whips her head around to stare wide-eyed at me. "What?"

Oh, okay, perhaps that's a little too sudden. "Sorry, I mean, you can come touch me, or poke me, or push me even," I say, pointing my flashlight towards the infamous flight of stairs. "You did that to the door earlier, didn't you? Did you not like Finn in here? Were you the one who touched Mike too?"

Without the EVP listener, it's slightly more difficult to pick out sounds that are unusual, and the mini-DV catches every tiny movement we make, so we'll have to minimize our noise as much as possible to avoid future confusions during analysis.

It's still and quiet in the lobby, the air relatively static and slightly warm for such a cool night, but there's still a sort of lingering anticipation that I can't explain. When you've visited numerous locations from all across the country, you just tend to get the vibe when something's not right.

Quinn shines her flashlight towards the ceiling, where a chandelier hangs from the center of the room, and the crystal ornaments glisten like stars in the sky, bouncing colors off the tiled flooring and plain walls. She fixes her gaze there for a while, as if she's figuring something out, and I want to know what's on her mind.

"Did you see that?" she blurts out just then.

"What?" I ask, pointing my flashlight up at the direction she's referring to. "What is it?"

"It just moved."

"I don't think—"

"See that part over there?" she cuts in, circling a particular spot with her beam. "Just look at the strands that are dangling. Three of them are swaying."

How does she even see that?

"Hang on," I say, holding the mini-DV up and zooming in to get a closer look. "Well—"

There's a sudden flash of movement, somewhere in all the blackness right at the corner of my eyes, and I do a fast pan of my camcorder, not wanting to scare it off with my torchlight. The night vision doesn't pick up on anything abnormal, so I quickly dismiss it as a play of vision. The brain can sometimes trick you into thinking something's happening because it's just trying to make sense of the situation, and I've learned not to dwell on it. "Why don't you come forward? Do you not want us here?"

"Sam!" Quinn suddenly hisses. "I think there's something on the second landing."

I dart my eyes over to the spot and squint up at it, but I don't see anything unusual. "Quinn, I'm not—"

"You don't scare me, you know," she declares, her tone stronger than before. "What are you still doing here? Why are you hurting people?"

I blink, and I think my jaw just drop. She's leaving me dumbstruck now, and I'm not prepared for that total one-eighty, until I realize that she's initiating an EVP session. Fishing the digital audio recorder out of my pocket, I do a quick tag of the file. "South Oak Mansion, Sam and Quinn in the lobby, commencing EVP session," I speak into the device and then pass it to her. "Use this."

Balancing the flashlight and mini-DV in one hand, she takes the audio recorder from me. She turns back around and then tenses for a split second. "It's gone. Now it's all black. I swear there was a spot that's darker than the rest."

Rule one of being a team leader: Always trust your fellow investigators.

"Why don't we go over?" I propose. "Move towards the source."

"Alright."

I let her lead the way since she doesn't seem so hesitant anymore, and I figure it's a good opportunity to do an EMF reading of the area. She's already at the foot of the stairwell, and I'm a couple of paces behind but as I'm reaching into my pants for the KII meter, all of a sudden I feel a chill in front of my chest, and the next thing I know, my flashlight is knocked out of my hand.

"Ah, shit!" I exclaim as it clatters to the floor a few feet away. "Fuck!"

There's a stinging sensation in my fingers, a numbness that's pulsing, and it hurts like hell when I try to clench and unclench my fist.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks.

The pain is gradually subsiding and the blood's flowing again, but damn, my heart's still jumping in my ribcage. "Yeah," I breathe, swallowing the dry lump in my throat. Holy shit! That was fucking out of this world. I've had paranormal experiences before, like tugs on my hair or my clothes, but never something quite like this. It's just surreal, and I'm trying to soak it in.

"What happened?" she murmurs.

I bend down to retrieve the flashlight, examining it in my palm. "It just got knocked out of my hand," I explain to her. "And right after, there's this unexplainable feeling, like my whole arm went numb."

"Jesus Christ," she whispers. "You sure it didn't just slip off?"

"Yeah," I reply with a nod as I inspect the frictional surface of the object, making sure to cover all possibilities. "Damn, that hurts. Did you catch it on video?"

She shakes her head regretfully. "I don't think so."

"Shit."

"Harley, you have to stop this," Quinn calls out, a slight anger coating her words. She's craning her neck around, like she's searching for something—or someone—and for the first time tonight, she intrigues me in a whole different way.

Harley? What does she mean by Harley? Harley Jones?

"Why are you hurting people?" she questions again.

A loud thump echoes through the lobby.

"What was that?"

I shush her up, holding a finger up to my lips just as another one reverberates off the walls.

Another one.

And another one.

Each sound progressively louder than the previous one.

"The KII meter's lighting up, Sam," Quinn informs me as she points to the device that's poking out of my pocket.

Three of the bulbs are going off like crazy, and I hold it up in front of me so that the camcorder is able to capture the activity. "This is insane," I mutter to myself as the pounding continues; now sounding as though a herd of elephants is stampeding through the building, and it's still going.

"Alright, we get it!" Quinn yells over the noise.

Instantly, everything ceases and the room is once again engulfed in silence.

The walkie-talkie crackles then, startling Quinn as she jumps a little.

"Artie to Sam and Quinn."

I place the KII EMF meter down on the steps and reach behind for the communicating device. "Go for Sam."

"What's going on in there? Are you guys okay?" Artie asks. "It sounded like an earthquake. You know, there's a camcorder on the window sill, so you two better not be having sex on that stairwell."

I roll my eyes at his crude ways. Trust Artie to make each and every situation as inappropriate as possible.

"We're fine," I reply back. "Noted. Over and out."

Slipping the walkie-talkie back into my pocket, I glance over at Quinn. She looks mildly spooked by all that's happening, and truthfully, I don't blame her one bit. All of the activity so far has gotten me quite ruffled up around the edges as well, and it's fucking up my concentration, but we've got a job to do. I'm a team leader, and I've got to set an example for my fellow investigators; which means that I have to pick up my balls from the floor and face this entity like a man. "You alright?"

She meets my eyes with a concerned frown. "I don't like this," she murmurs shakily. "Whatever's in here is definitely not friendly."

"At least it's trying to communicate with us, and that's all I'm asking for."

Quinn purses her lips together. "It's Harley. He doesn't want us here."

Picking up the KII EMF meter from the floor, I can't help wondering about her fascination. "How are you so sure?" I ask as I continue making my way up the stairs, mentally noting how it's settled on an average point one on the device.

Her footsteps echo behind me. "It—it's a hunch," she admits. "But everything that had happened tonight certainly points to him, I mean, I guess it's obvious, right?"

I pause at the door. "What's obvious?"

"Don't you see a pattern here? All of the experiences so far happened only to the guys," she reasons out patiently. "The door, Mike, and then your flashlight. They can't be coincidences that—" She whips around all of a sudden. "Something just walked past behind me, I swear."

"What?" I take a step forward, shining my flashlight at the spot, and then circling her to double-check. Always eliminate the possibilities. "There's nothing, Quinn. What does it feel like?"

"Like there's a cool brush of air of some sort," she explains. "It was a quick whoosh. I don't know what to make of it."

"Why don't we just head into the room," I suggest. "We've lingered out here long enough. There's an audio recorder next to the mini-DV on the windowsill. If there's anything Harley wants to say, it will be recorded."

"So you think Harley's the one?"

I wrap my fingers round the cool metal knob of the door and twist it open. "It's a probability, but you shouldn't close your mind on that option until we gather solid evidence that it's indeed him."

"Right," she nods, entering the room. "Of course. Evidence."

I hate being the bad guy here, but she has to see it in an investigator's point of view, and judging by her tone, I'm pretty sure she understands where I'm coming from. With the camcorder strategically in front of me and the KII meter pointing in the same direction, I release the doorknob and follow her in—only to halt to a stop when I feel a sharp tug on the collar of my shirt.

"What the—"

Whirling around, I register that there's nothing—or no one—standing behind me that could've done anything. I decide to let that pass, hoping that it's being captured by the stationary mini-DV, but as I'm turning back to talk to Quinn about it, the door slams shut in my face. From the other side, I can hear her gasp, and a couple of frantic footsteps later, she's jiggling the knob.

"Sam, it's stuck!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Don't shoot me! Gosh, writing this chapter felt like I was pulling teeth out! It's so much tougher than I thought, and I'm not functioning right at the moment, but I hope you guys actually find this better than me! Be gentle, please…

**Quam314159:** Thank you for reading and reviewing, and thank you for the lovely comments! Much appreciated!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! I love your assumptions, and I think I'll take you up on that suggestion :D Don't worry, I'll be sure to credit you! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much loves!

**Alli2345:** Hello! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you're liking the story so far! This is part one of Sam and Quinn's investigation, but I hope it's doing them some justice! I really enjoyed writing Rachel's point of view! She's hilarious!

**IShipFabrevans:** Awwww! You're too kind! Imagining the interactions between Mike and Rachel was fun, especially since they don't talk to each other much in the actual show, so I'd love to think of the possibilities of their friendship, and their partner dynamics :D You've picked up on really interesting points, which hopefully you'll soon uncover! Cheers! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! So greatly appreciate it!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Oh, my God! You guys have been amazing! I think the previous chapter has by far the most reviews, and I'm so grateful for that. It's greatly appreciated, and I'm having loads of fun interacting with you all! Thus, this next chapter is dedicated to all of you!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 10**

**Wednesday, 1.50am**

**/Sam Evans**

"Shit!" I cuss out, trying my luck with it, but the door doesn't budge. I'm so tempted to just kick it open in fact, but I can't because I'll only end up with a pile of damage that I can't possibly pay. "I can't open it, Quinn."

And then there's silence. The door stops rattling from the other side and I feel the bricks of panic building up in my body.

"Quinn?" I call out, knocking on the door. "Quinn, are you okay in there?"

She doesn't answer me, so I try twisting and turning the spherical knob again as I begin dreading the worst. What if she's passed out and she can't hear me or something? Pressing the side of my face against the wooden panel, I strain my ears for any signs or indications that she's actually alive.

"Fuck, what's going on here?" I mutter under my breath, once again rapping my knuckles on the door. "Quinn! Quinn, if you're alright, can you please answer me?" I call out desperately. If anything happens to her, I'll probably never forgive myself.

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Oh, my God," I sigh in relief. "Just hold tight, okay? I'm going to try and pick the lock and stuff."

"Yeah, sure," she replies, her voice slightly further this time, and I suppose she's probably exploring the room. I guess I shouldn't be impressed, but I also should know better. Quinn isn't like any other girl. She's just so stable and composed, I wonder if there's anything that she's really afraid of.

Patting down my clothes, I try to find for anything that I can use to help me, like a paper clip of some sort or a safety pin, but that would be asking for too much, because really, why would I have it with me? Damn, I'm a hopeless fool. Figuring that there's nothing at all that I can do, I decide to radio central command with my walkie-talkie.

"Sam to central command. Anybody there?"

It crackles, and Mike's voice resonates from the speaker. "Central command to Sam, this is Mike. What's up, dude?"

"Quinn's locked in a room," I explain. "Bring me a bobby pin or whatever, pronto."

"Copy that," Mike says. "Which room are you at?"

"Believe it or not, we haven't gotten past the damn stairwell," I scowl in frustration.

"Jesus," he remarks. "I'll be right over."

I put the device away in my back pocket again, and I'm stupidly glaring at the door, willing for it to just spring open, but it turns out, I'm actually not a Jedi master. No secret there. Mumbling another string of profanities, I grasp the doorknob in my hand and give it a sharp wrench.

It clicks open effortlessly.

"What the heck?"

I can see Quinn's petite silhouette as she crosses the room, her pointing her flashlight straight at me. "Sam?"

The brightness is kind of blinding and I hold one hand up to shield my face. "Hey, you okay?" I ask.

She nods her head and gives me a small smile. "Yeah. Did you manage to pick the lock?"

"Well, no," I shamefully admit, feeling like a total loser. "I just tried twisting the knob again and it just opens. There's just—I can't explain it and—"

I hear a sound coming from the lobby, and I turn to see Mike's figure by the main entrance, his flashlight shining up at us. "Hey, Sam? I have a bobby pin and a paper clip. Do you still need it?"

Shaking my head, I say, "No, it's okay. It's open now."

"Alright, then." Mike shrugs in return.

"Thanks, though," I tell him. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Don't worry about it," he waves it off, and then exits the house.

"Sam," Quinn murmurs, capturing my attention.

"Yeah?"

"I heard a voice when I was in there just now," she informs me. "Like a woman whispering in my ear."

My eyebrows spring up. "Can you make anything out?"

"I don't know. It's hard to tell," she says. "But I've got the audio recorder running, so hopefully we'll catch something."

"That's awesome," I grin. She's really catching up to this whole investigation. Unable to resist it, I take a step forward and drop a quick kiss to her temple. "Great job, Q."

"Oh, so we're using pet names now?" she smirks.

Well, there is a list of names that I want to call her with, but I'm thinking that now is not exactly the best time to share them with her—at least not without scarring her for life, that is. "Among other things."

She sticks her tongue out at me, and damn, that's just the most adorable thing on the planet. I sneak a glimpse down at my mini-DV and I know that I'll probably be replaying that footage over and over again. Artie is going to have a field day when he reviews the video later on. It's probably going to be like soft-core porn for him, too, and I can just imagine Mike's reaction.

"Sam, what did Rachel mention about this room?" she asks, averting her flashlight to illuminate the far corner, where there's a bookshelf and a couch.

I move over to the center of the space, doing a three-sixty sweep with my mini-DV. "She and Mike found an angel figurine on the floor."

"Did one of them accidentally knock it over?"

"I don't think so," I reply, shaking my head as I do a generic EMF reading with the KII meter. "But I suppose it could be a possibility, you know, if it was already almost at the edge of the table and someone walks past, I guess it can cause it to fall."

"Where is it?"

"I'm not sure," I trail off, until I catch something on the small screen of my camcorder. "Oh, hang on, I think I see it. It's on that side table over there."

She walks over and gently picks up the small ceramic statue. "It's got some weight to it," she evaluates, turning it around in her hand. "And the bottom seems pretty stable, so it's not likely for it to tip over."

"Nice work," I comment. "Why don't you—"

Quinn suddenly gasps. "Something just touched me."

I rush to her side. "What?"

"I just felt a cold brush right here," she says, gesturing towards her wrist. "Like someone ran a finger right across."

Shining my light up at the ceiling, I check to see if there are any hanging cobwebs, or anything that can cause for her to feel that way, until I come to a conclusion that she's just had her first personal experience. I give her a moment to realize it and watch as it registers on her face, and she's looking at me completely dumbstruck.

"That was insane," she murmurs. "I'm getting Goosebumps all over."

"Is there anybody here who wants to communicate with us?" I ask out loud. "Do you want to tell us something? You definitely caught our attention, but we need you to speak up, or do a bit more because we can't hear you. You can talk to us through one of our devices; they won't hurt you, I promise."

"Why did you touch me?" Quinn questions, determination in her voice. She's such a trooper, this one. "Does it have something to do with this figurine? This angel? Does it mean something to you?"

We pause for a moment to listen, waiting for any sort of response.

A few seconds pass by without a single sound; however, I can't help noticing the stark contrast between the stairwell and the room. It's lighter in here, not as malicious, but it appears melancholic somehow.

"We should move on, now," I say. "We have more ground to cover."

Quinn nods, but I can sense the slight reluctance.

"What's wrong?"

"I keep hearing things in my ear, like someone's breathing right beside me," she tells me. "It's tripping me out a bit. Did you hear anything?"

"No, I would tell you otherwise to confirm that it wasn't one of us," I reply her. "Look, maybe we should get out of this room. Sometimes being in a place for too long can cause a certain sense of disorientation, especially when your brain's trying to figure out a lot of things at once."

She slowly exhales. "Yeah, you're right."

Placing my hand on the small of her back, I gently guide her towards the other door that opens up to the other room. We're about to enter when I feel Quinn stiffen beneath my palm, her spine tense and rigid.

"Did you just say my name?" She glances over her shoulder to look at me.

I shake my head from side to side. "No."

"I just heard someone say 'Quinn'. It's really low, but I can hear the syllables." Pivoting her head around, she checks the room once more with a fast sweep of her flashlight. "Should I stay? Maybe it'll be more willing to talk to me without you in the room."

She's got a point, and I'm considering it, but I'm also contemplating whether or not she's ready to be left alone. The night had begun with so much activity, with Finn getting hit and Mike getting touched, and my very own personal experience accompanied by that growl we caught on audio; it's been one heck of an investigation so far, but my priority is always with the team and their safety. If there are any chances of jeopardizing that, I won't risk it.

"I don't think that's a good idea." At her crestfallen expression, I quickly add, "it's not because I think you're incapable, but at this point of time, I'm a little concerned for your safety. With Finn already injured, I don't need anything to happen to you too."

"Sam—"

"I'm sorry, Quinn, but you've got to let it go," I tell her authoritatively. "We don't have time."

She looks torn, as though she's trapped between two options, and I'm waiting expectantly for her to decide. "Well?"

"She was pregnant," Quinn blurts out. "He found out that it wasn't his and killed the both of them."

I blink, trying to process everything she just said. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"She told me."

"Who?"

"Jane."

"When?"

Quinn hesitates, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Ten minutes ago, when you were trying to open the door."

"You said you couldn't make any words out," I remind her, slightly skeptical of her claims.

"I had flashes. In my head."

I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you saying?"

"Sam, I'm an Empath."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, there you go! The true reason behind Quinn's secretive behavior, and possibly why I haven't written the story in her point of view. It would totally ruin it, right? LOL! I wonder how Sam's going to react to this…

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and thank you for the wonderful comments! So, was your feeling about Quinn correct? Hehe! Well, this is just the beginning to the actual story, which will come after this, and it's where all the M-rated stuff starts happening—not at once, I mean, but how this will affect Sam and Quinn's relationship. Frankly, I love Scooby Doo! I grew up watching the cartoon all the time, and I've watched the movies, so it'll be really cool to do a series. I guess I'll have to see where this story leads :D Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Quam314159:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

**Gogolax:** Thanks for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the story so far!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** Awwww! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and leaving those awesome comments! I'm glad you're liking the story so far! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! Once again, thank you so much for diligently reading and reviewing my chapters! Quinn's side of the story is only just beginning, trust me. Things are going to escalate from here, especially with Sam and Quinn's relationship :D

**Alli2345:** Hi there! LOL! Glad you liked the cliffhanger! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

**IShipFabrevans:** Awwww…you're far too kind with your awesome comments! I'm glad this story has got you thinking, I mean, after all, it's supposed to be a mystery/suspense thing. I really enjoyed reading your analysis, even though I can't say anything about it at the moment without giving anything away! Yes, I'm glad you spotted the small detail about the patient and stuff, and it'll be uncovered soon—or not—because truthfully, this story wasn't meant to revolve around the mystery of the house. It's more than that, and this case is actually a catalyst to spark the bigger story. Well, that should be a hint, I suppose, no? LOL! Also, you're very welcome! I love writing this story, especially since I've gotten great responses that in turn fuels my motivation, so if anything, I should be thanking you! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**ReadingFanfiction13:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! It's greatly appreciated! It's always nice to know how people react to the story because it gives great pointers for improvement :D Cheers!

**FabrevansIsEndgame:** Hello! LOL! I'm sorry to leave you hanging in the previous chapter (and probably this one as well), but thank you so much for taking time to read and review this story! It means a lot whenever I get feedback and comments! I love watching those paranormal shows as well because I get to study their technique and equipment, and it's such an easy way to gain knowledge in the shortest time possible. I'm glad you liked the switch in POVs. That suggestion about Finn's POV, I think I'll take you up on that! I think this chapter sort of answers a bit of your questions regarding Quinn, and perhaps some of your assumptions are correct. Either way, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I'm on a roll! LOL! Writing this entire story has been so fun! Thank you so much guys for the wonderful words of encouragement and the lovely comments!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 11**

**Wednesday, 2.25am**

**/Finn Hudson**

"Look, Sam, I'm not even sure if I truly am or not, okay?"

The five of us glance up from the laptop screen to see a visibly angry Sam storming towards us with Quinn running to catch up to him, looking like she's about to burst out in tears. Like a scene out of a terrible comedy, we freeze on the spot, not daring to move a single muscle as we witness the tension bouncing between the two blondes. I wonder what everyone else is thinking.

What the hell is going on?

Is it trouble in paradise already?

Yeah, no, people always think that because I'm big and tall, I have to be stupid and dumb—that stereotypical jock label. Frankly, I'm a little offended by that, more so because I can't play a sport to safe my life, so that's just lame. The only thing cramping my street cred, is that I've always got a bad case of butter fingers, and I can't help it, but that definitely doesn't help in my 'cool' factor—not that I have any to begin with.

That doesn't mean that I'm totally blind or oblivious to my surroundings. I know those two have been making googly eyes at each other ever since that day in the headquarters, and I don't blame Sam at all, I mean, hello, have you see the girl? She looks like she just stepped out of a shampoo commercial or something, and I'm sure Mike and Artie have noticed that as well, but out of all of us, I still don't get why she picks a blonde Justin Beiber.

Sure, he's the team leader and sorts, and he's got the whole teen heartthrob thing going on, but I'm a whole lot taller than he is; a little pudgy on the sides and a solid pack, but I'm bigger. If anything, I'm the epitome of an alpha-male. Bet you didn't think I actually know what 'epitome' means, right?

Maybe she finally realizes that they're not meant for each other.

Huh, can't say I didn't see that coming.

Darting my eyeballs around the group, I realize that we're all wearing matching expressions. If it weren't for the somber mood in the atmosphere, I think I would've laughed because it reminds me of this one particular scene in the Simpsons—or was it The Justice League?

Sam stops and whirls around so suddenly, Quinn almost bumps into him, and something bubbles in the pit of my stomach because it's so damn unfair how close they are.

"You lied to me," he spits out, and I can't remember a time where he's been this mad before. He's fuming and seething, glaring daggers at her, but all I want to do is go over and shield her from his death rays.

"I didn't lie to you!" she sputters.

"You left out the one crucial information about yourself that's important to the team," he retorts back. "Do you know what could've happened in there?"

"Look, I'm sorry, Sam," Quinn cries out. "I just didn't know if you'll accept me that way if you knew."

"Well, guess what? Now I do," he snaps, taking another step closer to her so that they're nose-to-nose. She cowers for a bit, and I'm clenching my fists, just waiting until he goes out of line. "And it doesn't make a fucking Goddamn difference."

"Hey, what's going on?" Rachel bravely interrupts.

Sam turns to face us, his mouth set in a straight line, his jaw twitching. "Quinn's got something to say."

And then, without any other acknowledgment, he sets his equipment onto the table and stalks off towards his car. Quinn's looking like a deer caught in the headlights, her beautiful hazel eyes wide and frightened. Even so, she looks like an angel, absolutely stunning, the mini-DV still strapped to her hand.

Am I the only one confused here?

"Quinn?" Tina softly prods. "What's he talking about?"

Oh, good. I'm not.

I want to go and comfort her so bad, take her in my arms and tell her everything's all right. Exercising self-restraint has never been this hard before.

"Whatever it is, you can tell us," Rachel assures her.

"Yeah, it can't be as bad as that one time the team caught me staring at—"

"Not now, Finn," Tina mutters through gritted teeth.

Well, that's embarrassing. "Right, sorry, go on."

Quinn takes a deep breath, and then another. "I'm an Empath, or rather, I think I am. I'm not sure. I'm trying to figure it out."

Wow. Didn't see that coming.

We're collectively silent, all of us trying to process what she just said.

Wait, she's an Empath?

"Oh, jeez, another one?" I mumble.

She hears it, apparently, not like I'm expecting anything less, but that has to be dangerous. "What do you mean? Are you an Empath too?"

"No," Mike answers for me. "But Artie is."

If she's surprised at all, she doesn't show it. She blinks, however, like suddenly everything makes sense. "Oh, that explains—"

"Why you can't read me?" he cuts in, a smirk growing on his face. "I knew there was something odd when you blocked me the first day, like there's a barrier I can't cross with you."

Quinn edges closer so that she's now standing barely a few feet in front of me—of us—but a little nearer to me, and I can see the slight despair in her glazed eyes. "How did you—when was—what—"

"Well, I always think that maybe my disabilities had something to do with it," Artie shrugs nonchalantly. That's right, I know what 'nonchalant' means. "But I'm not exactly sure. I've always been a bit more sensitive when I was younger. Small things trigger my emotions, and sometimes I just feel things out of the blue just because someone around me is feeling that way."

"Is that how you feel, Quinn?" Tina questions.

She shakes her head and places her camcorder down beside the laptop. "It's a little different," she explains. "I can pick up on emotions, like I know how each of you are feeling right now, but I don't know which of it belongs to whom. Everything comes to me in a jumbled mess, and more often, it always leaves me confused because I keep trying to figure things out, but it's not something I can pinpoint."

"Did you feel something in there?" Mike asks, gesturing towards the mansion.

"I get flashes sometimes," she reveals, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I can be in a place and I get images in my head. I read the surroundings better than I can read people."

"That's like a psychic, right?" I wonder.

"What did you see?" Rachel speaks up, rudely ignoring me. She's always been a skeptic when it comes to this. Even till today, she's still suspicious of Artie and his 'gift'.

Quinn gets this faraway look, as though she's recalling every single minute. "It was like watching a movie. The trauma, the deaths, it was devastating and depressing, and I think that Jane might have been pregnant when Harley killed her."

"She committed suicide," Mike reiterates. "It was stated in the reports."

"You know, this is why we don't really put Artie in such cases," Rachel chimes in haughtily, and I roll my eyes. She just needs to shut up already. "We can't validate anything based on 'feelings', and Empaths like you are always defensive about how you 'feel', but the truth is that we can't prove anything without solid evidence."

"Okay, chill out, Rach," I tell her. To Quinn, I give her a small smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. We're not judging you or accusing you of anything, but Sam's right. You should've told us at least. It's a big thing to keep."

"You can always come to me if you need to find out more," Artie offers. "I'm still trying to separate my emotions every time I attempt an investigation, so perhaps we can, you know, work on that together. It's actually a nice change to share it with somebody who's not skeptical all the time," he adds, emphasizing the last few words so that it's directed at one Rachel Berry.

Quinn shoots him an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Artie. I'm so sorry, guys. I didn't mean to ruin tonight's investigation."

"Actually, I think you helped out more than you realize," Mike muses out.

With a tilt of her head, Quinn asks, "in what way, exactly?"

"I'm not sure how it works, though, but I think you being an Empath sort of triggers more activity in the house," Mike explains, looking thoughtful. "You felt the presence, and I think the entities in there felt connected to you somehow."

"Actually, today is Jane's death anniversary," Quinn says. "I would assume it's more significant than me being here."

Mike's stunned for a while, and then I can see the wheels spinning in his head as he tries to figure it out. "Damn!" he whispers. "How did I not see that?"

"Look, before we start coming up with theories, I think we should analyze all of the footage before conjuring ridiculous conclusions," Rachel butts in.

Oh, God, who talks like that?

"Does that mean we're done for the night?" I ask.

"I should think so," Tina nods. "Why don't we go retrieve our equipment and pack up?" she suggests, and then turns to Quinn. "Go and talk to Sam. He needs an explanation."

Quinn glances over her shoulder towards the car where Sam's figure can be seen sitting in the driver's seat. She bites on her lower lip, and then reluctantly makes her way over. I watch as she opens the door to the passenger's side and gets in, promptly closing it afterwards to give them some privacy.

"Finn!"

I snap around and Rachel is glaring pointedly at me. "What?"

"Will you quit ogling her and get your ass moving?" she barks.

Slave driver.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 2.50am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

We've been sitting like this for five minutes now, just silent, staring straight ahead. I probably don't have to say anything, I mean; she's an Empath, right? I'm pretty sure she can already read my feelings.

I can smell her sweet perfume from across the seat, and from my peripheral vision, I can see her twiddling her thumbs with her hands in her lap and I know that I'm making her nervous. Well, I suppose she should be since I'm still peeved about this entire thing. I'm more than peeved; actually, I'm irritated and slightly betrayed.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, finally breaking the quiet air. "I know I should've told you right from the beginning, but I—I didn't know how you'd react."

"You're right," I say, still refusing to meet her eyes because I'm sure that the moment I look into those hazel-green eyes of hers, I'd be a lost cause, and it's not a chance I want to take. "You should've told me, Quinn."

We're back to the silence again, and through the side mirror, I can see the others packing up the equipment. I glance at the digital clock on the dashboard and realize how late it really is right now. I have an afternoon class, but I'm sure the others have the early ones, so I suppose we should get a move on.

"We should—"

"My mum pulled you guys into the case," she blurts out. "Judy Clark? She's buying over the property so that she can convert it into social hall."

This time I can't ignore it anymore. "What?"

She wriggles uncomfortably in her seat. "My mum works for the town council, and they're thinking of converting this mansion into something more accessible to the community. She was tasked to oversee the whole project, but weird things started happening in there."

I can't believe this.

"She wouldn't allow me to enter this place, but something about it pulls me in," she continues. "I figured I need to know what's going on because she's always worried and stressed out about this. I'm sure you've heard how she's been switching between companies, and nobody seemed to want to work on the project." Quinn takes a deep breath before she goes on. "I've heard about you guys around campus, and I've checked out your website, so I convinced her to give you guys a shot at investigating the place."

"And then you decided to tag along for the ride?" I cut in, because the logic is completely lost to me. "Is that it? What happens after the case?"

"It's not like that at all," she quickly defends. "It was, at first, but when I found out how invested you guys are about this, I reckon you could use my help."

"You mean your abilities?" I retort sarcastically, even though I truly didn't mean for it to sound that way. "It doesn't work that way, Quinn."

For a split second, I see the hurt flash across her face, but she looks away.

"You let Artie stay," she murmurs.

"That's because he didn't lie to me," I shoot back. "He didn't have selfish reasons. Artie joined Project Paranormal because he's truly interested in the technical aspects of an investigation. You, on the other hand, just needed to satisfy an itch, isn't that so?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"Are you even honestly interested? We're not playing detectives here, Quinn, and I'm not sure if we're looking for the same things," I tell her, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "You can't come in here and just get what you want and leave. Not telling me that you're an Empath is one thing, but not telling me that your mum hired us is another altogether. You can't keep doing this, Quinn." Raking my hair in frustration, I let out a long sigh. It's been a very long day. "You can't keep popping up with all these surprises, okay? Is there anything else that I need to know? Like, your dad working for the archives—"

"My dad left when I was four."

Shit.

"I—I'm sorry," I mumble, feeling the awkwardness take over.

She shakes her head, her blonde hair swishing back and forth. "No, don't be."

There's a gentle tap on the window and I turn to see Mike standing outside peering in, so I roll it down to talk to him. "What's up, dude?"

"Are you two done?" he asks, slightly bouncing on his heels. "We've got everything packed and we're ready to go."

"Yeah, sure," I answer him. "I'll see you guys later."

With a nod, Mike heads back to his car.

"I think I should go ride with Tina," Quinn says, her hand already reaching for the handle, but I hold onto her wrist to stop her.

"No, don't. We're on a date," I remind her. "I'll drop you off."

She's regarding me with caution, a little hesitant with my decision, and in the rearview mirror I see the other cars already pulling out of the premise. Against my better judgment, I lean forward and drop a chaste kiss on her cheek.

She turns to me, stunned by my actions, and I'm so tempted to just eliminate what space there is between us and capture her lips in mine, but I can't. It's all too confusing right now; I'm not sure where that leaves us. Quinn opens her mouth, like she's going to say something, and I quickly pull away before she does. Not right now. I don't think I can handle that; not when her scent is still lingering in my nose.

Putting the car into gear, I reverse the vehicle before driving out of the gates.

We didn't talk once during our entire journey up to Westville Avenue, and my thoughts are probably too tangled up to even bother trying to decipher anything. Besides, it's already three in the morning. All I can think of right now is my bed, my pillow and my blanket. I can tell, though, that something's really bothering her, but I figure if she wants to tell me about it, she'll do it on her own accord.

"Turn right at that junction," she informs me. "It's right around the corner over there, that red brick apartment."

Anybody can see it from miles, though, and I don't think it's a bad place to live. Technically, I guess, this is a relatively decent neighborhood. I pull up by the curb and switch off the engine. Leaning back on the headrest, I close my eyes for a bit. This is not how I envisioned the night to end.

"What does he want from you?"

My eyelids spring open at the unexpected question. "Who?"

"That guy," she whispers. "The one that's constantly haunting your dreams at night."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. "How—what—how—"

"I felt him when you kissed me earlier on today," she says, eerily calm. "It's the same dream every night, hasn't it?"

I'm moving my lips now, but there's no sound, and I'm struggling to find my voice because it's hitting me like a bucket of ice water, so I just nod in return. I've been through a series of paranormal activity in my life, but nothing has ever bothered me quite like this.

"Who is he, Sam?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know," I breathe.

"He wants something from you."

I clear my throat, but the lump is still lodged in my windpipe. "Do you know what it is?"

"No, I don't, sorry."

Maybe my head's not in the best place right now, or it could be the late hour, but I suppose it's a good explanation for what I'm about to say next.

"You mentioned that you could feel him?"

"I can't exactly explain it but—"

"Can you help me?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** See! I told you this is just the start of the actual story…LOL! First and foremost, a fast dedication and shout out to FabrevansIsEndgame for that awesome suggestion on Finn's POV, which I have managed to incorporate in the first part of this chapter. Hope you guys liked that! Also, maybe this might be a little confusing for some of you, but I guess you can tell that Quinn's not a regular Empath. She's still trying to figure things out, and the technical aspects of it all is still fairly vague to me, so I might not be accurate on that account. After all, it is a fictional story, right? LOL!

**Laxwriter:** Hi! Thanks for reading and reviewing!

**S . inthehouse:** Hi there! You don't need to apologize, really, because you know, you did leave a review regardless, and I'm pleased that you're reading my story. LOL! I'm glad you're liking the chapters so far. I really enjoy writing the different characters because it gives a sense of diversity and sorts. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, though! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated! Well, at the moment, Quinn's not a straight-up Empath, I would dare say she's a hybrid—LOL!—but I wouldn't take Empath in a literal manner. I'm sure there are tons of different degrees of Empaths in the world, but yeah! I'm excited to write this story from here on, because I feel this is where it gets interesting! Hint hint!

**FabrevansIsEndgame:** Hehe! HI! I hope you liked the start, with Finn's POV…dedicated specially to you! Well, Jane might or might not be pregnant, because we're learning this through Quinn, and she's still unsure about her abilities, but yes, I guess that is quite a big impact on the case. I guess this chapter will further answer your questions about Quinn's relation to the house, and yes, I do foresee myself writing a chapter in Quinn's POV, some time in the future. Hehe! Well, about the Empath thing, I'm using the term really loosely here, so please don't take it too literally. Honestly, I may not even be the best person to write about it, considering I have no clue what a true Empath is. However, Quinn is still figuring out what she is exactly, you know, what this gift is about and how she can use it, so yes, I wouldn't worry too much about labeling her as a true 'Empath'. :D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story so far! I really appreciate it! Cheers!

**Quam314159:** Awwww…thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your wonderful comments are really appreciated, and I'm glad you're liking the concept of the story!

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you enjoyed the multiple happenings in that chapter :D Hope to hear more from you! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** You've never failed to read and review my chapters, so for that I'd like to give a big thank you for taking time off to do so every time! I truly appreciate it! You are right, my little grasshopper. Empaths can feel people's emotions, but I suppose some Empaths grow to develop more than just that. I'm not the best person to talk about Empaths because I have no clue as to the abilities that they actually have, so I guess you can take the term pretty loosely in my story. Perhaps Quinn is different from the other Empaths, I mean, she's definitely different from Artie. Either way, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with me!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** LOL! I so know what you mean! I usually write this on my table in the office, with people around me, and I hear people typing and talking, and it helps soothe my imagination because I tend to stray and then I start to scare myself. Haha! Thank you so much for reading my story either way, and leaving wonderful comments! I love to know what people think or react to the story, so I truly appreciate you reviewing!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Awww…I'm glad you liked it! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Cheers!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I am constantly blown away by the amount of reviews I get each and every single time, and you guys have never failed to put a smile on my face and motivate me to write on.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 12**

**Wednesday, 7.15am**

**/Santana Lopez**

What the fuck is that wailing noise?

Did someone install a damn warning siren in my ears while I was asleep?

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

God, it's way too early for this.

If I hear that damn alarm clock one more fucking time, I'm going to throw it in the fucking blender and fucking ship it to damn Cambodia. Blindly tugging on my pillow, I let out a groan and press it into the side of my face, smothering me as I desperately try to return to dreamland, and finally have hot and steamy sex with George Clooney and Leonardo DiCaprio atop a yacht in the middle of the Caribbean Sea.

The warm breeze blows the dark tendrils of my hair as I lay down on a towel, clad in a tiny white bikini, my tanned bronze skin glimmering in the sunlight. I grin up at the cloudless sky, savoring the paradise when two dark figures loom over me, casting a shadow. Lifting my Louis Vuitton shades up over my head, I arch an eyebrow up at the two men, smirking in a way that has men falling on their knees for me.

"Hey, San—"

Okay, no, that's it!

"_Come mierda_!" I growl, removing the sleep mask and tossing my duvet aside.

How the hell is she still sleeping with all that fucking racket?

In a fowl mood, I groggily jump to my feet and stomp out of the room, down the hallway towards the source of my problem, a million cuss words leaving my mouth. Nobody messes with my beauty sleep, _nada_, especially not one that involves two drool-worthy men who was about to show me a really good time. The blaring has yet to stop, and I think people can hear it all the way from China, what with the sheer volume and annoying-as-fuck tone. Rolling my barely-opened eyes, I bring one fist up to start pounding on my roommate's lavender-coloured door.

"Quinn!" I yell out. "Damn it, Fabray, shut that thing off, will you? I'm trying to get Leo to fuck me and your caterwauling is cock-blocking it! _No me gusta_!"

Still, the alarm clock continues blasting with outmost determination, and fuck that, it's driving me crazy. I ignore the rule to knock before entering and simply barge into the room. Scanning the room for the offending object, I stalk over to the bedside table and slam the button. Instantly, I'm rewarded with blissful silence—about time, too. I'm one second away from tearing the house down and imposing my Latina roots on the damn thing.

I turn around and see this lump on the bed underneath the comforters. Planting my hands on my hips, I glare hard at it, waiting for any form of movement or acknowledgment, but after a while, I huff in exasperation and peel the blanket off the petite figure.

"Go away," she mumbles grumpily. Still curled up in a fetal position, she reaches out for the cover that I'm holding up, her fingers curling around nothing but air. "Leave me alone, Santana. It's been a rough night."

"I would ask how it went but right now I don't give a shit. Get your pretty ass off the bed this instant, Fabray," I snap, slapping her on the rear for good measure. "You have a class in an hour."

"Fuck it," she mutters, rolling over on her stomach.

I snort in amusement. The girl's so demure; it's like a nipple slip every time she swears, but if I were a guy, I would totally find it hot. "Get up now before I decide to strip you naked again and manhandle you by your Barbie hair."

Her eyes spring open as she instinctively flinches away, immediately sitting up, now wide-awake with her arms crossed over her chest, looking violated and braving for her dignity. That's a mean technique, but the look on her face is so worth it. I hadn't actually stripped her naked, though, but she knows better than to test that theory. We've been friends—and mutual enemies—for years now, and she's deeply aware that I more than follow through with my threats.

"I'm up!" she declares, hopping off the bed. "Jesus, Satan."

How barf-ably witty.

Grunting, I flop down on her soft mattress and sprawl myself across the entire span of space. "I hate you, Fabray."

Quinn heads for her wardrobe and pulls out a fresh towel. "That's nice to know," she quips back. "What did I do this time?"

"Your retarded alarm clock interrupted my George-and-Leo goodness," I inform her with disdain. "For your safety, it better not happen again."

"Got it," she nods, strolling out of the room. "Your sexual frustrations are at my mercy."

"You bet it is!" I call out as I hear the door to the bathroom open and shut.

I lay there for a bit, staring at the ceiling, and I notice a piece of paper taped to the wall with bold words neatly written across. "One step at a time," I read it aloud, and then chuckle at the peppiness.

Quinn has always been an optimistic person—I guess it comes with being a cheerleader all those time—and every other day, she'd have different messages displayed above her bed. She's such an all-American girl; it's rather tragic sometimes. I mean, she's never had a one-night stand with a guy, hardly ever drinks or attends those frat parties; sometimes I feel like I'm living with an eighty-year-old, which is why I was pleasantly surprised when she hadn't been home last night. I've yet to go all bad cop on her about that, by the way. She owes me an explanation after all the supper I've cooked and wasted.

Through these thin walls, I can hear the shower turning on and I realize that there's absolutely no chance of me resuming my fantasies in the arms of Mr. DiCaprio and Mr. Clooney, so I might as well go fix myself a nice pot of coffee. Lord knows I need it with that awful wake-up call. It's still ringing in my ears, and I'm afraid I might need some audio masturbation after this. Hello, Josh Groban.

Padding towards our small kitchen, I flick a switch for the coffee machine and plug in my MP3 player to wait for my morning caffeine fix. As Andrea Bocelli Jr. serenades me in the background, I pop two slices of bread into the toaster, figuring I should probably go ask Quinn if she wants anything for breakfast. She usually does the cooking, only because my classes are usually in the afternoon and I'm not obligated to rise up as early as she does, but I guess it doesn't hurt once in a while.

"Quinn, I'm making toast!" I holler out. "You want some?"

"Wow, that's new!"

I roll my eyes again. Really? "Shut up. Do you want some or not?"

She doesn't answer me this time round, and God, she can be so difficult sometimes.

"Quinn!"

"You asked me to shut up," she wisecracks.

"Last call, Fabray," I tell her in mock warning. "Do you want some or not?"

"Yes, please, thanks."

"Bitch!" I taunt.

"Satan!"

Her laughter echoes throughout the house, and I follow soon after, because that's what we do. After pouring myself a nice steaming mug of coffee and buttering my toast, I sit down on the stool and start absentmindedly flipping through a random gossip magazine. Minutes later, the shower turns off and after a moment, Quinn pads out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

"You're dripping all over the floor," I unnecessarily comment.

With a scoff, she says, "I'm the one that usually mops the place anyway."

True that.

Shrugging my shoulders, I continue eating my breakfast and entertaining the idea that maybe one day I'll be featured in one of these trashy reads with my ultimate super-stardom.

"Hey, you never told me where you were last night," I begin nonchalantly. "Hot date?"

She takes a moment to reply. "You can say that, I suppose." Her voice is sort of muffled, so she's probably raiding the closet.

My ears perk up instantly. "Really? With whom?"

"None of your business," she retorts.

I sigh in discontent, totally not satisfied by her answer. No, if she's going to interrupt my sweet dreams, I'm not going to let her get away with this. "Please tell me it's with a guy. I don't suppose you've ever mentioned to me that your door swings the other way."

Quinn pokes her head out of the door and glares at me. "Yes, with a guy—more specifically, four guys and two girls," she promptly answers before disappearing back into the room.

I wrinkle my nose in distaste. "A group date?" That's so middle school, and I think they only still do that in Utah.

"No!" she exclaims. "How old do you think I am? Twelve?"

Yes, actually. Twelve and a half.

"Then what was it?" I wonder impatiently. "A midnight group orgy?"

"Santana!"

What a prude. "Well, then tell me."

"It's…complicated."

Okay, she has officially embarrassed me. I just hope nobody's listening in this conversation because I don't think I can handle it. "You're kidding me, right?" I deadpan.

She emerges once again, this time fully dressed, and I gaze at her outfit incredulously. Another sundress? Seriously? Oh, _papi_, she's trying to kill me right now. "No, I'm not," she says, shaking her head. "It's really complicated, Santana."

I eye her suspiciously, but she seems genuine enough, so I suppose I'll let it slide. For now. "Fine," I relent. "But we're going shopping soon."

"What? Why?" she asks, scrunching her face.

"No offense, but your wardrobe sucks," I tell her, gesturing with my hands. "Like that dress."

Glancing down at herself, she frowns. "But I love this dress."

"Exactly," I nod. "It looks like something even my _nana_ wouldn't want to wear."

"But it's pretty," she defends, smoothing down the imaginary wrinkles in the fabric.

"Not in this era, _chica_," I counter-attack, knowing that I'm going to win this argument regardless. I always do. "Could you at least try to look more decadent? You were a cheerleader in high school, for goodness sake. Stop dressing up like a fucking nun."

Quinn throws her arms up in defeat. "Fine," she concedes. "But I'm still wearing this today."

"Fine, then go put on my red pea coat and those black oxford booties," I instruct authoritatively. "If I had a cat, I'll probably use your cardigan as its play toy."

"What are oxford booties?"

She's really testing it this time. "Trust me, you'll know when you see it."

Spinning on her heels, Quinn heads for my bedroom, and I'm already planning a makeover in my head. Well, it's not that she needs something extreme, I mean, the girl is gorgeous. Everybody can see that but her. The only thing actually stopping her from reaching her full potential as a classified slut is her reservation when it comes to meeting new people, which always baffle me ever since high school. Asking her to socialize is an equivalent to me actually not socializing.

The doorbell rings just then, pulling me out of my thoughts. I quickly glance over to the clock on the wall. Who the fuck knocks on people's doors at eight in the morning? Then again, who the fuck wakes up before ten? Oh, right, my roommate.

"I'll get it," I announce, sliding out of the stool.

Wearing on my best bitch face, I throw open the entrance door and see some guy standing in the hallway, two cups of coffee in his hand. My eyebrows rise up in appreciation as I study his tall physique; this sex God right in front of me with a pair of washed-out jeans and a plain white T-shirt that's doing wonders in displaying his rock solid abs. Yum.

And then there's his boyish Macaulay Culkin face. His mouth is two sizes too big in disproportion to his face, but I figure those are some darn kissable lips, and I'm pretty sure he's got lemon juice in his hair.

"Can I help you?" I purr in my best Moulin Rouge voice.

"You must be Santana," he says, and I think I just achieved an orgasm.

"You must be right."

"Um…Is Quinn in?"

Unbelievable. He didn't even bat an eyelash, and I'm standing here in nothing but a tank top and a pair of boy shorts. I'm starting to think he's gay. Stepping aside, I allow him to enter.

"Quinn!" I shout, loud enough to be heard over on Mars.

"What?" she snaps, sauntering out of my bedroom in the appropriate outfit.

"You got a visitor."

I notice the change in her expression the moment she looks at Mr. Guppy Lips. "Oh, hey, how'd you—"

"I need to talk to you," he cuts in, and I think he should stop talking before I end up ravishing his delicious piece of meat right here and now.

"That's great," Quinn says. "But I have a class in fifteen minutes."

"The campus is only five minutes away," he points out, his irritation starting to show.

She pauses for a bit, weighing his intentions, and I can tell it's making him a bit uncomfortable because he clears his throat. Or maybe it's me. "I'm walking over," she clarifies. "My car's still there."

"I'll drive you," he offers, holding a to-go cup out for her to take. "Coffee?"

Quinn plucks it out of his hand. "Thanks," she murmurs shyly and I can see the blush creep in her cheeks as she takes a quick whiff of the beverage.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asks, stuffing his now vacant palm into the front pocket of his pants.

Oh damn, that bulge.

"Sure," she shrugs in reply.

He leans closer so that he's now whispering in her ear. "Can you tell her to stop staring at me like that?"

Charming.

"I was just trying to figure out how many tennis balls you can fit in that dinosaur mouth of yours," I huff. "For the record, I think you can suck my whole fist in there."

He looks scandalized.

"Down, girl," Quinn snickers. "Sam, this is Santana Lopez. Satan, this is Sam Evans."

"Nice to meet you," he grins handsomely, raising his cup in a salute.

"Yeah, yeah," I brush off. "Let's cut the crap, shall we? You hurt her, and I'll hogtie you—Junior Rodeo style—got it? I'll shave off every strand of that blonde Beiber hair and handcuff you to a flagpole—"

"Okay!" Quinn interrupts, glaring pointedly at me. "I think we should go." Turning to Froggy Lips, she places one hand on his chest and shoves him out of the apartment. "Bye, San!"

"You kids behave," I call out before shutting the door.

Now, where were we, Mr. Groban?

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 8.15am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"So…Santana's…"

"Interesting," she finishes for me, and then takes a tentative sip of her coffee as we wait for the elevator. "Yeah, I know."

"So, erm—"

"How'd you know which apartment is mine?" she asks.

Sheepishly, I rub the nape of my neck. "I waited downstairs after you left last night to see which window lit up, and then I just did the math."

"Oh."

And now we're back to the awkward silence. Last night seems like a total blur; the investigation and her confessions, they're like a giant mash-up all in one and in the midst of all the activity, it's all become rather hazy. I'm still wondering if I had imagined everything. I had sat up in bed after that, tossing and turning, unable to go to sleep, because all I'm thinking about is her. She clouds my mind in the sweetest, most insatiable way possible, but it's killing me because she's such an enigma and I'm completely exposed to her thoughts.

"Don't do that," she murmurs all of a sudden, jolting me out of my reverie.

"Sorry?"

Gazing up at me, she repeats, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Look at me different; like I'm about to tell the world your entire life story," she says flatly, the hurt in her tone as she looks away.

I blink, and suddenly I'm feeling like an ass because I'm not making the situation any better. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Did you have another dream last night?"

The elevator dings and the door slides open, and I gesture for her to enter first. "I couldn't fall asleep," I admit to her as the lift descends at a steady pace.

She nods her head, bringing the drink up to her lips. "What do you need help with?"

"I want to understand what's going on," I tell her honestly. "With you; with me. I want to find the answers."

She's hesitating, contemplating what she's going to say. "I can't promise you anything, Sam."

We reach ground level faster than I had anticipated, and I feel the privacy in our conversation dissipate the moment we step out. Now, as I lead the way towards my car, I'm unsure of what to say. So instead, I rummage around in my pocket to pull out a set of keys, occupying the quiet moment as I twirl it around my index finger. The jingling sound of metal is distracting enough, and it takes a while to realize that we've reached my beat-up vehicle. I proceed to wordlessly unlock the door, but before she can get in, I wrap my hand around her wrist to stop her.

"Quinn."

She whips around, and it occurs to me that I've startled her, so I quickly release my grip.

"Uh, sorry," I apologize, awkwardly curling and uncurling my fingers.

"It's alright," she mumbles. "I'm just a little jumpy right now."

"Is it—does it—I mean, did I—"

Quinn shrugs her petite shoulder in the same way she always does. "You can't help it. It's not your fault."

And in that instant, I know that it isn't her fault either. "Look, Quinn, I'm really sorry for last night. I lost my cool and I shouldn't have yelled at you—especially in front of the entire team, but you caught me off guard, and withholding that information from me is unacceptable because so many things could've happened to you. It's dangerous."

I take a deep breath to calm my thoughts, knowing that every single emotion I'm feeling is amplified to her, and I remember when Artie used to mention it to me. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Quinn," I tell her, throwing caution to the wind and finally looking her in the eye—her beautiful, hypnotic hazel eyes. "You should've told me everything."

"Would you have allowed me into the mansion if I had?"

I open my mouth, the words at the tip of my tongue, but something's stopping me.

"I didn't think so," she mutters sadly.

"No, wait," I say, catching her hand and interlacing my fingers through her dainty ones. "That doesn't change the way I feel about you, Quinn."

She frowns, clearly not convinced of it.

"I mean, it does, in a way," I ramble on, setting my cup of coffee atop the roof of my car. "But I've thought about it all night, and I'm no closer to an answer now than I was before. I don't know what's going to happen between us. I don't even know if this is going to affect the way I act around you, but right now, you're my only solution here and I truly like you, Quinn Fabray, and whether I like it or not, you're the only one who knows about my dreams and I think you're the only one who can help me figure it out."

Halfway through my monologue, her eyes start glazing over, and eventually the tears spill down her cheeks, leaving a trail of moisture down her smooth skin. Instinctively, I reach up and wipe them away, cupping her face delicately between my palms.

"It's not a blessing, Sam," she whispers.

"It is to me," I tell her with a sigh. "I know, being a lead investigator and all, I strive on concrete evidence, but that doesn't make me a non-believer. I need you."

Her angelic face clouds over all of a sudden and she jerks away from me, brows furrowed. "Why? To satisfy an itch?"

Okay, I deserve that.

"What happens afterwards?" she parrots my words. "What happens when you realize that I might not be able to help you any more than you expect?"

"That's not what I meant—"

"Really?" she retorts. "Because last night, you clearly insinuated that my so-called 'abilities' are of no help at all to your investigation and—"

I need to shut her up, somehow, before I lose it again, so I swoop down and capture her soft lips in a searing kiss. A burst of warmth spreads throughout my body, like a dose of sunlight, until she tears away from me and slaps me across the face.

"Don't even," she seethes.

And just like that, she leaves me reeling in the parking lot.

Fuck.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Alright! This chapter is more the aftermath of the investigation, and how Sam's reacting to the news, and an introduction to Santana! She cracks me up so bad—in my head, I mean—and it was so fun writing her POV. Anyway, this chapter is special to me, because I wrote it with a better understanding of Empaths/Mediums, and I'd like to give a huge thank you to IShipFabrevans for the amazing reviews. I'm so very grateful and appreciative of her help and her thoughts, so everybody please give a round of applause to one of my favourite reader/writer, for the inspiration and insights.

**FabrevansIsEndgame:** Hello! You are very welcome! Finn is actually a really good character to write that scene in because he's the best person to diffuse tension in a scene. I'm glad you liked how I portrayed his character in the story :D At the moment, I'm just focusing on the whole Fabrevans thing and try not to build on anymore couples, but you know…we'll see how the story goes, yeah? LOL at the Finn and Tina pairing! That would be so funny! Artie is another great character to play off, which is why I don't believe I've done his POV yet, but yeah, I think he'll be an interesting friend to Quinn, and it makes for good material in the whole Fabrevans situation—hint hint—and how they're going to interact. I think it'll take a while before Sam figures out the mysterious guy in his dreams, but don't sweat it, we'll get there together :D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!

**Burnthiscityxx:** LOL! Hi there! It's a little slow at work at the moment, which is good because it gives me ample time to write my stories. It'll probably slow down as and when more stuff comes in for me. I'm so glad you're liking this story so far! Yes, we have Tina's POV, in chapter 8 if I'm not mistaken. At the moment, I'm just concentrating on the whole Sam/Quinn thing and I'm not planning to add anymore couples at the moment because I don't think there's really space for them, but I suppose it's possible…we'll see…Hehe! The investigation on the mansion is actually just a trigger to the bigger story that's coming up, so hopefully you'll stick around for it, yes? Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Yes, there's a term to that, and I've learned that they're called Mediums, and Quinn might or might not just call under that group of people. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**IShipFabrevans:** If I haven't already thanked you enough in my A/N, I'm going to thank you again! First of all, I'm so very appreciative of your wonderful comments and pointers, and taking time to explain further about Empaths and Mediums. It's such a great help, and I'm so grateful for it! You are spot on with Quinn's POV because I would imagine how difficult it's going to be when I get to that, and I don't want to do any injustice to her character, but I'm hoping that one day I'll be brave enough to attempt it, but till that day comes, I guess I'll be the coward and hide behind everyone else's POV. Hehe! Thank you for the tip regarding the 'crying' thing. I will definitely keep that in mind for future chapters! That said, I didn't purposely add the crying part in this chapter just to fulfill that. I reckoned it suited the whole scene. I'm rambling, now, sorry! Anyway, thank you so much for sharing your knowledge on Empaths and Mediums with me! About Artie being an Empath too, well, I would like to think that he hides his true feelings through his sarcasm and aloofness, and I think it'll be interesting to see him and Quinn interact and figure things out together. I have this impression that certain paranormal investigators are skeptics, and they'd rather debunk claims instead of assuming everything is haunted, but different teams work differently, right? I think I'll always be having doubts about the Empath/Medium thing, you know, but thank you so much for your lovely comments and encouragements! Yes, the man in Sam's dream, that's going to be the center of the story now. 'Whisper in my Ear' is actually a generic title, and it's a theme that I want to address throughout the fanfic. LOL! Don't worry, I'm sure Finn's POV will make a comeback! Hope you've liked this chapter! Cheers!

**Quam314159:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! I'm glad you've enjoyed Finn's POV! It was such fun writing it! I'm also glad that you liked the twists in the story! You've brought up a brilliant point regarding Sam and Quinn, and what's going to happen as their relationship progresses! I can't tell you at the moment without spoiling anything for you, so I guess you'll just have to wait and see! :D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's greatly appreciated! Cheers!

**DeGleesi:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and leaving wonderful comments! It's much appreciated! The story is rated M mostly for future chapters, but at the moment I think Santana's POV is partly M? I don't know…NC-16 perhaps? LOL! I couldn't write this story at night; I'd scare the shit out of myself! No comment about Mercedes :P She won't make an appearance in this story. Yay!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Hi guys! Okay, so this is not a very long update, but it's sort of necessary because here we get to see some progression between Quinn and Sam, as well as the rest of them. I would also like to apologize for the poor Spanish in the previous chapter. I take French beginners, which is no excuse since there's this thing called Google translation, but I hope you can forgive me for that! On that note, here's chapter 13!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 13**

**Wednesday, 3.20pm**

**/Finn Hudson**

The only thing that annoys me more than Rachel's voice is working on digital analysis. I'm usually in charge of the stationary cameras, but since we didn't use any during our impromptu—yes, I know that word, too, thank you very much—investigation, Artie has left me to the audio stuff.

Swell.

I've been sitting in the headquarters for half an hour now, the rest at their respective desks with their own analysis to work on, and I think I need a break. If I have to listen to the recordings for one more second, I think I'll go insane. Hitting the pause button on the device, I pull the headphones off and lean back on the swivel chair, stretching my arms up in the air and cocking my neck from side to side. I run a hand over my tired face, pinching the bridge of my nose with my thumb and index finger, and wielding for the throbbing in my head to disappear.

Damn, it's been a long night, and an even longer morning.

With the eight o'clock class, I barely had time to sleep at all. Peering over, I spy Rachel sitting directly across from me, her head low as she trains her eyes on the screen in front of her. She's sifting through the footage on her hand-held mini-DV, gnawing on her bottom lip in full-on concentration, but due to the glare of the monitor, I can see the dark shadows underneath her eyes. I turn my head and there's Tina and Artie at a corner, where they're studying the tapes from the strategically-placed camcorders. I remember leaving an extra one on the windowsill that was facing the stairwell, and Mike had mentioned putting another one in the sitting room on the second landing, so that should be a sufficient amount of footage to go through. At another side of the room, Mike is working on the stationary audio recorders—and I think he's got one footage with him—but he keeps yawning every few seconds while he subconsciously twirls a pen in his fingers.

And then there's Sam. With his legs propped up on the table next to me, he has one hand poised on the mouse and a cup of coffee in the other. He's staring at the computer, clicking every now and then, a preoccupied look in his eyes, and I'm pretty sure he's just smoking through. I can just imagine how pissed off he must be with the whole Quinn situation. Sure, I mean, if the girl I'm ass backwards crushing on—and who's to say I'm not—drops a bomb that I don't want to hear, I'd be pretty miffed too, but I think he was out of line for blowing up on her like that.

Well, I suppose if he's going to be a jerk about it, then that's going to be his loss. Quinn's such an amazing girl, and anybody would be blind not to notice that. First of all, she's extremely gorgeous, like really, really, gorgeous. It's her eyes; they light up every time she smiles. Secondly, I don't doubt that she's got the brains, I mean, she's perfect! So what if she's an Empath, right? It saves me the trouble of having to discuss 'feelings', like every other needy girl out there. I'm not going to be stupid enough to throw away such a chance with her, especially since Sam's now obviously out of the picture.

There's a quiet knock on the door and I glance up, only to do a double take.

Did she just read my thoughts?

I instantly scramble to my feet. "Quinn?"

Everybody stops what they're doing, tension filling the room as they tentatively regard her with mixed emotions. I flicker my gaze towards my team leader, and I notice the way his jaw tightens for a bit. She visibly swallows, looking very uncomfortable with the scene.

"Hi," she murmurs cautiously.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel's sharp tone pierces through the air.

"Erm…I—"

"I invited her over," Mike says, giving the blonde girl a small smile and a slight nod. "We could use some help."

We're all watching Sam really closely, gauging his reaction, but he simply shrugs his shoulders. "Whatever." Without another word, he goes back to his analysis.

Cold.

I open my mouth and I'm about to proceed with my first attempt when Mike waves her over, gesturing to the empty seat beside him, and I'm scowling on the inside, glaring at him from my spot, hoping he'll get the message but he never acknowledges me. I suppose he probably also wants her for himself and is trying to woo her now with his Asian genius-ness—is that even a word?—and win her heart that way. Frankly, I don't see the appeal. What does Chang have that I don't? He's way shorter than I am, scrawny, and I bet he can't eat a five-pound burger in half an hour.

Quinn returns his smile and as she walks, she catches my eye and gives a tiny wave, and all of a sudden I'm feeling warm and tingly inside. Shit, can she detect that? I really hope not. It's just going to push my street cred lower than its already non-existent state, and I need all the points that I can get.

"Can you please sit down and continue with the analysis?" Rachel hisses in a snarky manner.

Rolling my eyes at her, I lower myself back on the chair and put on my headphones to finish up on my audio stuff, but from my peripheral vision—one more smart point for me—I can see Mike explaining the processes to her, their heads practically touching. My core bubbles at the insinuation—ha! Score!—and I'm desperately trying to blow up his small head. How dare he try to make a move on her? She's so out of his league, anyway, he shouldn't even bother.

There's a giggle, a melodic sound that comes out of her mouth, and he's grinning like an idiot, and I'm trying to resist the urge to go over and punch him in the face. They finally settle down to it, and I resume my task of locating disembodied voices.

In the audio clip, Rachel and Mike are talking about wrapping up their investigation and returning to central command, and he shouts all of a sudden. It startles me for a moment, but I continue listening for a few more seconds, trying to figure out the rest of the conversation before rewinding the small section and turning up the volume. After looping it for a while, I reckon I need a second opinion before I label this as evidence of paranormal activity.

I hook my headphones around my neck and turn to face my leader. "Hey, Sam, I need your take on this," I say.

He sets his cup of coffee next to the keyboard and swings his legs down from the desk. "Sure, what's up?"

"This clip is from when Rachel and Mike are in the cellar, and you can hear Mike going 'shit', but tell me if you can hear anything right before that," I explain, handing my headphones over to him.

"Okay," he mumbles, putting it on.

I cue the audio clip and play it for him.

"Once more," he requests.

By now, we've gotten everybody's attention, and Sam glances over at Mike. Ripping off the headphones from his ears, he says to the Asian guy, "I think you might want to hear this."

Mike's eyebrows spring upwards and he comes over to join the party. "What is it?"

"Okay, do you remember when you thought you heard someone scream in your ears while you were down at the cellar?" I ask. "You had quite a reaction from it."

"Yeah," he validates. "It was like a yell in my ear."

"Take a listen," Sam tells him, passing my pair of headphones over.

Mike adjusts the cans over his ears and I hit the play on the audio clip. He concentrates for a moment and then takes it off. "Yeah, that's it," he confirms. "That's creepy. It's really soft in there, between the layers you can hear a high-pitched voice say 'no', but when I was there, it was like someone's just right there in my ear."

"Well, you've got a great piece of evidence here," Sam notes. "Good job, Finn."

I puff my chest out slightly and grin. What can I say? It feels good to be appreciated once in a while. "Thanks."

"Did the mini-DV pick it up?" Mike asks Rachel.

She shakes her head. "No," she replies. "I mean, I didn't hear it either, and I was there with you."

"Either way, it's something we can show Judy, right?" I add in, hoping that this will somehow impress Quinn so that she doesn't think I'm a doofus.

"Oh, are you guys meeting her today?" Quinn timidly questions.

We pause, waiting for Sam to answer her, but when he doesn't, Artie takes it upon himself to do so. "No, tomorrow."

And then we're back to the thick and awkward silence.

"Well, I guess we should get back to this," I decide to speak up. "There are still a lot more footage and audio to go through."

Sam and Mike return to their respective desks, and I reckon it's a good time for a short break and grab a bite, giving me a perfect opportunity to actually talk to Quinn. Straightening my striped T-shirt, I saunter over—giving each step a little swagger—to the pair, where Mike's pointing something on the screen and describing what dust would appear like on the camera lens. Casually, I drape one arm across the monitor.

"Hey, Quinn."

She glances up at me, a sweet smile on her porcelain face. I take a quick glimpse at Mike and he's rolling his eyes.

Whatever. He's just jealous.

"Hi, Finn," she replies. "Can I help you with something?"

Suddenly, my heart's pounding really fast, and I can feel my palms clamming up, and God, it would be totally embarrassing if I start perspiring, but I can't help it. Her eyes keep drawing me in, like a moth to a flame. It's doing all sorts of gymnastics in my stomach, and I'm thinking of something witty to say without sounding like a loser.

"Yeah," I squeak out.

Fuck. Just shoot me now.

Mike snickers at the expense of my humiliation.

Douchebag.

But I'm not going to let him deter me. Clearing my throat, I give it another shot. "Yeah, I'm just heading out to grab a bite or some coffee. You want to come with?"

I have no idea why she looks so surprised. Is it that hard to believe that I would be attracted to someone as pretty as her? "Uh…"

"Just go," Mike murmurs through the corner of his mouth.

Her gaze flickers momentarily over my shoulder, and I pivot my neck around in time to catch Sam looking away. Mike smirks knowingly even though he's staring at the screen. I'm just glad he's not an Empath as well. Quinn tilts her head, studying me with a funny expression, and I flash her my most winning smile.

"Sure," she accepts.

"Hang on," Sam interrupts our conversation. "I think I want to go grab a sandwich."

I'm inwardly groaning at his deliberate attempt to hinder my progress with the girl of my dreams, but I try my best not to show how affected I am by it. He clearly wants to ensure that I don't stand a chance with Quinn, and that's fine with me, considering how he's actually seeing me as a threat now. My only concern, however, is that I don't want her to feel uneasy with Sam tagging along like a damn security guard, and I'm not going to lie and say that it doesn't bother me, but it does. He's totally cramping my style.

"Just let me know what you want and I'll get it for you," I tell him flippantly.

He glares at me from his desk. "No, I think I'll come along," he insists, hopping out of his seat.

Dude, just back off.

I turn to Quinn. "Are you okay with this?"

She's probably reading his thoughts right now, weighing his motives, and I wonder if he feels violated. Half the time people tell me that I have nothing in my head, so I doubt there's anything interesting in my noodle for her to pick on. Besides, I'm pretty sure she's only able to read emotions and not like an actual psychic, which is the extent of Artie's abilities as an Empath. He's like that vampire, Jasper, from Twilight.

Shit. Please just forget I mentioned that.

"Yeah, sure, why not?" she replies offhandedly.

Huh. Not exactly what I'm expecting.

But then she gives me another one of her magical smiles, and fuck it, I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do for Quinn Fabray.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 4.35pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Yeah, and they've got a really good dessert buffet too," Finn drones on as we're walking back towards the headquarters, a large cup of coffee in his hand and a half-eaten hotdog in another. The ketchup and mustard are practically oozing out of the bun, what with the amount he's squirted on it, and God, that's just disgusting. "Every other week, they'd have a theme, so the other time, their theme was 'The Four Elements' and so they had these really awesome pastries…"

I tune off his ramblings, well aware that he's trying to impress her, and perhaps she's just a really nice person for entertaining and humoring him. Frankly, I don't know what had possessed me to do this because right now, it feels like a torture test, but the thought of Quinn and Finn together makes me nauseas.

Quinn and Finn.

God, that sounds terrible.

Besides, isn't it kind of obvious that Quinn sort of belongs to me? What's Finn doing up in my business? I mean, it's bad enough Mike's on her side instead of mine, and it pisses me off how he had just invited her over without consulting in me first. Sure, he's second-in-command, but that's beside the point. Bottom line is, he knows what it's going to do to me, and I trusted him enough to tell him about what had happened this morning. Of course I left out the part about my dreams, which I guess makes for a losing discussion.

Some friend he is.

I didn't actually need to grab a bite or anything, but I bought an egg-and-tuna sandwich anyway; didn't want to seem suspicious. Stealing a glimpse over at Quinn, I see her nodding as she takes a sip of her cappuccino, and then I shift my eyes to Finn, who's gesturing animatedly about a giant sculpture that he had seen made entirely out of white chocolate. A blob of sauce falls to the floor but he doesn't notice it, and I roll my eyes at his idiocy.

She hasn't spoken to me once at all, and it doesn't help that Finn's hanging on to her every attention, but I need to talk to her.

"And then one time, they had those Cannoli pastries that I really like, and there's a chef on standby who does the filling for you in any flavor you want—"

"Quinn, I need to talk to you," I blurt out, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

She stops a few paces in front of me and slowly turns around. Finn copies her movement, but he's definitely not pleased. In fact, he's giving me the dirtiest look ever, like I've stolen his favorite fried chicken or something.

"Right now?" she asks.

I nod. To Finn, I say, "go back first. You still have those audio clips to review."

At first he looks like he's going to protest, but then thinks better of it and reluctantly slinks away. I watch his back until he's out of sight, just needing a flimsy excuse to delay the inevitable, and when it's clear that there's no other way to postpone this anymore, I take a deep breath to face her.

"I can't read your mind, you know," she mutters, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "Not directly."

"I know, I'm sorry," I sigh, raking my fingers through my hair. "I didn't mean to—"

"What do you want, Sam?" she asks, jutting her chin out defiantly.

Her hazel eyes are fiery and passionate, and just then I notice the two odd spots in her right iris that's so fascinating and peculiar all at the same time, I can't help staring at it. She blinks; her long lashes fluttering as it snaps me back to the present. "I—I want to apologize to you for what I did this morning," I tell her, our gazes still interlocked. "It was totally out of line, and I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm sorry. What I said this morning, it came out all wrong."

Quinn's features softens a little, but she doesn't back down.

"So you mean to say that you didn't try to use me this morning?" She questions again, her tone flat and accusing.

"What?" I yelp out, remembering the sting of her fingerprints. "No! I wouldn't—that didn't even cross my mind, Quinn, I swear. Was that what it seemed to you?"

"You wanted answers," she retorts, jabbing one finger to my chest. "And I only knew about your dream because we kissed, and you probably would already figured that out, so what were you expecting me to think?"

"I only kissed you to shut you up," I confess, the words tumbling out in a heated mess.

"Oh, because that makes it better now, doesn't it?" she shoots back, and suddenly I realize the stream of tears that are wetting her flawless complexion. It catches me off-guard again, like it has so many times when it comes to her, and all I want to do is gather her in my arms and wipe them away so that I can see her beautiful smile once more, but I know better. The last thing she needs right now is me. "Do you know how much it hurts every time it happens? I feel things that I don't want to feel, and I see things I don't want to see, and fuck you, Sam. You can't play with me like that. I'm exposing myself to you, and I will not be a pawn in your games."

Someone might as well just punch me in the gut and simultaneously crush my balls with the ache that's in my heart knowing what I've done to her, no matter how unintentional it had been.

"Trust me, Quinn, I wasn't trying to play with you at all," I tell her. "What I said this morning—about how this doesn't change the way I feel about you—it's the truth. I stayed up all night thinking about what you told me—about this guy wanting something from me—and I realized that I—that we can figure this out together."

"I need some time to think about this, Sam," she looks away guiltily.

"I—I'm sorry," I softly whisper. "I really, really didn't mean to hurt you in anyway, and if there's anything I can do—"

"Just leave me alone."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, a little intense there, you reckon? This is a rather short chapter; a sort of filler till the next update, which should be a little more eventful than this one. I hope you liked Finn's POV in here because he's obviously going to play a part I the whole Sam and Quinn debacle. Sam's POV is a little short, but I just felt that it had to be done.

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked Santana's POV! I had an absolute blast writing her character, because she's such a challenge when it comes to writing witty dialogue for her. To answer your question, Artie's different from Quinn. He's an Empath, but Quinn might be something more, and Quinn mentioned that she knew about the mysterious man in Sam's dream only when they kissed, so I suppose that information's exclusive to her only.

**Quam314159:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the Santana and Quinn interaction! :D

**RJRRAA:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! LOL! I think bringing your dad, a priest and a medium is a smart choice, even for a non-believer. I mean, better safe than sorry, right?

**Alli2345:** Hi there! I'm glad you liked the different POVs! I really enjoyed writing Santana's character because the possibilities are endless with her! Thank you so much for reading and leaving wonderful comments!

**FabrevansIsEndgame:** Awwww! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and leaving such wonderful comments! It always gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside! I'm glad I did justice to Santana's character because she's such a piece of work! I actually wanted to use Enrique Iglesias, but I reckon Josh Groban would make for a better candidate. LOL! Unfortunately, Sam and Quinn are still fighting a bit, but at least now he kind of understands what she's going through and how his actions affect her more than he realizes, but I'm sure they'll patch things up—hint, hint! I'm still working on the whole Artie/Quinn POV because I reckon it's going to take twice as long to write them, and then I'll probably need to get one of my friends to sub-edit it before I put it up. Anyway, do continue telling me what you think, and do feel free to drop me some suggestions, or if you find anything's wrong. I really appreciate it!

**IShipFabrevans:** Whee! Hi there! It's always so nice to receive reviews from you because you not only give wonderful comments, but you also give constructive criticism, which I appreciate so very much! I learn something new every time! Well, like I've mentioned before, I want to focus solely on the Sam and Quinn relationship, and not take the attention away by creating a subplot to the other characters. I have nothing against any pairing when it comes to Santana because she has great chemistry with everyone. Haha! My grasp on Spanish is slim to none, and I apologize for the bad use in my story! I feel so bad about it now, like I want to take it back but I can't…oh well…either way, thank you so much for correcting my mistakes! Where I'm from, Singapore, we have this strange language called Singlish that I'm totally not proud of. You can look it up on Google but it's just really bad English mixed with other broken stuff, and anyway, one of the things we say goes like, "go eat shit, la…" which is so terrible, I kill myself every time I hear it…which then leads me to my point about "Come mierda". I saw the "eat shit" translation, and I didn't think it was particularly wrong…LOL! I should know better. I have no idea where I got 'nada' from…I think I heard it on Vampire Diaries, but thanks for correcting me :D I truly appreciate it! I hope you weren't expecting a nice reunion in this chapter because you know, Quinn's still angry with Sam, but they're getting there. I think. I'll see what I can do :P Thank you once again for the really awesome comments!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Santana is straight, I guess, in this story, at least because I don't want to put too much emphasis on a specific character. Quinn is dealing with a lot of things at the moment, and I always thought she's such a strong character and right now, she has the power to completely resist Sam if she wants to because she's now the key to his problems. Thank you so much for the lovely comments! I'm truly flattered! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Not much at the moment, but I promise it gets better :D Cheers!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **Hey guys! Something got screwed on the previous chapter, and I'm sure a lot of people didn't receive notifications on anything till about two or three days later. It happened to me, but no matter, it's fixed now!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 14**

**Wednesday, 6.45pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"You can clearly see the outline of it," Mike explains, tracing the black figure on the screen with his index finger. "If it's Finn, you'll see a reflection on the window because he's obviously carrying a flashlight."

"Also, it can't possibly be a tree from outside since we know that there aren't any along that particular stretch, except for those small bushes," Rachel chimes in.

"And you guys didn't notice that while you were in there?" I ask Tina and Finn.

The simultaneously shake their heads.

"It was a quick pan, and they didn't acknowledge it at that time," Artie tells me. "In fact, we only noticed it when the video was on freeze-frame last night."

"Alright, I suppose that's valid," I say in approval. "We'll show that to Judy tomorrow."

"God, my mum's going to freak," Quinn murmurs, mostly to herself, but still loud enough to be heard by everyone, and immediately five heads swivel towards her with various—but relatively—confused expressions. She pauses for a bit, mirroring their sentiment for a split second before she turns to me. "You didn't tell them?"

I shrug my shoulders and marvel at the fact that she's actually speaking to me.

Ever since the confrontation—or heated discussion, whichever way you'd like to see it—in the hallway earlier, she had been ignoring and avoiding me at all costs, choosing to talk to the others instead. Seriously, I can't believe I screwed up again, I mean, how retarded can I be? I've managed to insult her twice in a span of twenty-hour hours and still offend her in between, but it's fucking insane because I really like her, and I want to go out with her again. I just don't want her to think that there's an ulterior motive to my actions.

Sure, I'd be lying if I said that there aren't any at all, but it's so much more to just trying to decipher my dreams. I truly want to get to know this girl, regardless of her 'abilities'. It's just one more thing to add to the list of traits that makes her so intriguing. Still, I'm going to respect her wishes and leave her alone.

"Judy Clark is your mother?" Rachel asks incredulously.

"But you're—" Tina begins before Quinn curtly cuts in.

"My parents got a divorce when I was four."

Nobody knows how to react to that, so the room remains silent for the next minute or so until Artie decides to diffuse the tension and awkwardness.

"Well, then, that's interesting," he comments, clearing his throat. "Didn't know that."

"So, wait, let me get this straight," Rachel interrupts, her judgmental overtone surfacing once again. "Your mum hired us for this case while you decided to join the team. Did you ask your mum to hire us so that you can tag along in our investigation? Did she ask you to spy on us? Are we not credible enough for her?"

"Okay, stop there, Rach," I say before she can continue and create some major damage. "That's enough. She's told me about this the first day when she joined us, and I didn't mention it to the team because I don't want anybody treating her any different."

Quinn glances at me, slightly stunned that I would actually lie to my group to cover for her, but I figure she doesn't need any more bullshit in her life.

"So let's just cut the crap and get on with this," I admonish authoritatively. "I'm hungry and I want some dinner."

Rachel looks miffed at the whole thing, but I can't be bothered to please her ego right now. My eyes dart over to the blonde. She mouths out a 'thank you' and gives me an appreciative smile, setting off the butterflies in my stomach. I feel my cheeks heating up, and after a quick nod, I glance away so that she can't see how I tend to blush like a damn schoolboy, but I'm sure she's already figured that out.

"Alright, Tina and I got something from when you and Quinn were investigating the stairwell, and this is from the stationary camcorder on the windowsill," Artie informs me, conjuring up a video clip from the taskbar. "Right off the bat, things started happening in there; you guys heard sounds and knockings that are loud enough to be heard from central command."

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, it was crazy in there," I tell them. "I've got footage from my camcorder—as well as Quinn's—and we've managed to capture those banging sounds and they were loud. One time, my flashlight got knocked off my hand, and then the door just shut in my face and wouldn't open, so it was really active that night."

"Yeah, and Quinn mentioned the chandelier?" Artie raises his eyebrows. "Like how three strands were swaying?"

"They did, I mean, there was no draft in that house at all. The windows were all closed," Quinn adds in. "But you can clearly see it move."

"Well, we managed to capture only part of it, but let me show it to you," Artie continues, clicking on the timeline bar for a specific spot. He taps on the keyboard for a bit and zooms in to the area. "Alright, just keep your eyes right there," he says, circling the objects with his finger as he hits the 'play' button.

There's a white spot on the ceiling, where Quinn's shining her flashlight, and I'm squinting my eyes even though the image is blown up to fill the desktop—and then I see it, like a gentle brush across the three strands on the chandelier, as though someone had literally ran his or her fingers over them. Quinn's voice follows shortly after, asking me if I had seen that, but before I can reply, Artie pauses the clip.

"That's crazy, right?" Tina murmurs.

"Was it a response to your question?" Finn asks.

"It's possible, I guess," Quinn shrugs her shoulders. "Sam asked if whatever it was could make a noise or do something to let us know that we weren't alone in there, and about a minute later, that happened. Did you catch anything on my mini-DV?"

I shake my head. "It's too shaky to tell but I'm sure this would do for us. Anything else, Arts?"

The bespectacled guy nods his head and hitches his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "We didn't catch the part where the flashlight got knocked off your hand, though, because it was facing the opposite direction, but we've captured the banging sounds, and I think you'll be surprised."

"I don't even know what it sounds like," Tina voices out. "It's hardly something you can recreate from inside the mansion."

"So are you saying that it comes from outside?" Finn muses, his forehead creasing in thought.

"No," I assert. "It definitely came from inside, I'm sure of it."

"Okay, guys," Artie announces, grabbing our attention back to the computer. "Take a listen."

At first I hear Quinn's voice, and she was demanding to know why people are getting hurt in the house, and then I hear the first thump, sounding rather distant. The next one follows shortly after, the volume increasing as it goes, until Quinn's voice joins in, stating that the KII EMF meter is lighting up.

"Holy shit, is the camcorder vibrating?" Mike comments.

The banging sounds have evolved into thunderous booming, and as the next wave hits, it gets obvious that the mini-DV is shaking. I scrunch my brows together, trying to figure out what's going on.

"That's so strange, you guys," I say. "I mean, I didn't feel the building shake at all."

"I did," Quinn reveals. "Right beneath my feet."

"Why didn't you tag it?"

She turns to me, acknowledging my question. "I thought it was just me. I was nervous and a little scared, so I thought I was trembling."

Oh.

"You know what that sounds like to me?" Finn speaks up. "It sounds like a battle tank, or a cannon or something like that."

Rachel scoffs at him. "Are you sure?"

He seems offended by her blatant discredit. "I think I play enough computer games and watch enough movies to know what goes on in a battlefield."

"Battlefield?" Quinn tilts her head. "The Civil War? Did it pass through the house? We know Harley used it as a shelter for the soldiers, but did any sort of attack happen there?"

This is Mike's area and specialty, so we leave it to him to answer her.

"Not that I know of," he contemplates. "Maybe I should check the records again, but from what I know of, there were no such events."

"What about around that area?" Rachel suggests. "I mean, it may not necessarily happen in the mansion itself but the sound was loud enough for all of us to hear. It could be the residual energy from the period of time, perhaps even way before the Civil War."

"There's no way we can know for sure right now, though," I tell the group, before this drags on any further. Working on hunches has always been sort of a disadvantage for us because it's like trying to catch the tail end of a vicious cycle, so as far as possible, I tell my team to stay away from that. "Let's just present that as evidence and not get into the whole war debacle. I don't want Judy asking us questions that we can't answer."

"Is she anal?" Finn dumbly asks.

Quinn seems repulsed by that and huffs. "A little. Sometimes. But that's not for you to judge, Finn."

A round of snickers ripple through the group, and I try in vain to hide my smirk. Way to go, Hudson. He tries to cover up for his blip, but his mouth opens and closes without uttering a single word, and his face is redder than a lobster, but he's trying to play it cool.

"Just checking," he coughs out.

"No offense, Quinn," Tina says. "But your mum does seem like an uptight person."

There's that trademark shrug again. "She can be if she wants to, but I'm not going to lie; she is going to freak out a little when you guys show her all of this. Her brain is not made for such intensity. Just remember to keep a bottle of water handy."

"Alright, enough about her mum," I declare, raising both my hands. "Let's go on with this. What else have you got, Arts?"

"We caught the door slamming on you, and you wouldn't believe what else," my technical advisor tells me, pausing for dramatic effect before fast-forwarding the video clip to where it happened. "Have a load of this."

He goes ahead and plays it on full screen, and Quinn's just entering the room on the second floor landing as I hold the door open. I'm following her in, but I sort of jerk back, like someone's stopping me, and then I hear Rachel gasp next to me. The clip continues playing, and I'm thinking that it's probably the best piece of evidence ever captured.

"Damn," Mike curses under his breath.

"That's fucking insane, Sam," Artie remarks. "It's like something straight out of a horror movie, and that's not even the best part. Let me zoom in for you."

He does so, and rewinds the footage.

"Something tugged on the collar of your shirt!" Rachel exclaims. "I saw that, like the material's being dragged downwards."

The baby hairs on the nape of my neck are standing just remembering it. "Yeah, and I checked to see if perhaps I had my clothes snagged on something but you can clearly see it from there that I hadn't, and neither me nor Quinn could've accidentally locked the door. We couldn't even open it from both sides."

"Shit," Mike mutters.

"So, erm…how did you feel in there, Quinn?" Tina timidly asks. "Did you sense anything? Did Harley or Jane try to make contact with you?"

"I thought we agreed to forgo this Empath shenanigan?" Rachel snaps in annoyance. "Whatever she tells us can't be taken into account of what the evidence and reports clearly state."

"We just want to know, alright, Rach?" Finn lashes out at her, finally losing all his patience.

The Jewish brunette freezes, stunned that out of everyone, she had to be reprimanded by the Neanderthal. Quickly recovering from it, she sticks her nose up in the air and defiantly crosses her arms over her chest. "Fine, but must I remind you that Sam is hungry and we have yet to conclude this analysis?"

"Don't pull me into this," I say, turning away.

Upon realizing that she's outnumbered in the team, Rachel takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "Look," she attempts, changing her tone of voice. "Why don't we all have this story-telling session after we're done with the analysis? We can all grab some dinner and then Quinn can tell us all about her wonderful and exciting experience."

"Sounds good to me," Artie agrees, being purposefully oblivious to her sarcasm.

"Actually, I can't stay for dinner," Quinn informs us apologetically. "I promised my roommate we'd spend some one-on-one girl time together."

"I'll drive you home, then," Finn offers with unmasked eagerness.

"No, it's okay," she politely declines. "I have my car with me, but thanks."

A part of me is jumping for joy, but then it occurs to me that she'll be leaving, and I'm grappling on anything that I can use to make her stay when she looks at me with those amazing pair of eyes, and I'm just drowning in her essence.

"In fact, I think I should go now," Quinn adds in, her gaze not leaving mine. "I'm probably late, and I've intruded enough on your investigation."

"You're not intruding," I instantly reply.

She gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach her hazel orbs, and then she glances away. "Thank you so much for everything, you guys. I'm—I'm sorry, for all the troubles I've put you through, and you guys have been amazing to me—"

"Wait, you're leaving?" Mike blurts out. "For real?"

"Clearly this is not where I should be—"

"If this is about Rachel—" Finn starts, only to be interrupted by said girl.

"Hey! I'm right here!"

"Shut up," he growls back.

They're making Quinn uncomfortable again, and she looks like she's going to start hyperventilating now, and I've had it, but I can't find the words to say anything because she's gotten me paralyzed all of a sudden. I'm processing her implications in my brain, but it's just hanging there.

"Both of you, shut up," Artie barks. "God, my head hurts with all your anger and negative energy. Are you two ever going to stop bickering? Find a center and move on, okay?"

By 'center', he means an even ground.

"Quinn, you don't have to leave," the bespectacled techie adds.

My gaze drops guiltily to the floor because I should be the one to say that to her. I'm the leader of the group, but frankly, I'm just being a fucking coward. My mum always gives me a hard time about my stubbornness and my pride, and she's always the one to remind me that it'll be my downfall one day. I just didn't think it'll be for a girl.

An Empath.

"I'll see you guys around."

I hear the shuffling of things and then her dainty footsteps as she walks out of the room, and I just wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I feel like a royal douche right now for not fighting for her when I clearly know that she's the one thing I need.

"Sam!" Tina snaps me out of my reverie. "Go after her!"

"What?"

"Dude," Mike sighs. "Bring her back. Please."

And then it's like my legs are on autopilot, like my body and brain are two conflicting sections, but I'm running out of the door, looking down the hallway until I spy her retreating figure in the distance.

"Quinn, wait!" I call out.

She pauses then, her spine rigid, but she doesn't turn around.

"Don't go, please," I plead, my voice echoing down the empty corridor. "Stay."

Still, she doesn't move, and I'm aware that my own footsteps are hitting the linoleum floor in time to the beating of my heart, slowing down till I'm directly standing behind her.

"I need you," I say. In the proximity, I'm able to smell her sweet perfume. "For so many reasons, and I didn't mean to make you feel like I'm trying to take advantage of you. I would never do that to you, Quinn. Look, you don't have to help me with this dream thing; it doesn't matter to me anymore, but please don't leave."

Before I know it, I'm staring into those honeyed hazel eyes again, ringed with a tinge of green, glistening in tears of conflicting emotions, and it tears me up inside to see her cry.

"I'll see you around, Sam Evans."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 8.55pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

"Hello! Earth to Quinn Fabray," I say, snapping the pair of chopsticks in front of her face as she blinks out of her trance-like state.

"Sorry, what?"

Frowning, I heave a tired sigh and roll my eyes.

Unbelievable.

Here I am trying to tell her about my perverted fifty-year-old acting coach, and how he kept having eye sex with my boobs all through class, and she probably hadn't even been listening to a single word. That is totally not acceptable. When I talk, I command all attention on me, and nothing else but me. I suggested this one-on-one _chica_-time for a reason. She stood me up last night for some Backstreet Boy-wannabe and his groupie, so I decide we're going to order Chinese take-out and have a chick-flick marathon while she spills about what really happened. No way am I settling for that bullshit she had said this morning. I'm a trained performer. I invented the concept of lying and dodging to her, so she's not fooling anyone. Besides, if she stood me up for them nugget-brains, I want to know why.

Except she keeps spacing out on me.

Maybe some alcohol would do the trick.

Where did my bottle of wine go?

"What's wrong with you, Blondie?" I ask, grabbing for the remote to mute the television. "You keep blanking out every few seconds. Are you even listening to me?"

It's her turn to roll her eyes.

Bitch, I taught her that too.

"Of course I'm listening," she retorts, stirring the noodles in her carton. "Your acting coach is ogling your goodies. Again."

"Damn straight, he is, that rat bastard," I say, spearing a chunk of soy-glazed chicken. "But seriously, Fabray, what's got you today? You're so out of it, it's not funny."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe you're just boring?" she snipes back half-heartedly.

What an amateur. I can see through that too.

And she's supposed to be the special one.

Pfft.

"Oh, please," I scoff. "Nothing about me is boring. Even my vagina has a fan-base bigger than the Kardashian sisters. Spill."

"About what?" she mumbles in reply, looking glumly down at her food.

Okay, seriously, where's my alcohol?

"Don't play the dumb blonde with me, Quinn," I glance pointedly at her. "I'm your best friend. Seriously, who do you think you're trying to fool?"

She's doing that thing now, that mind trick thing, that doesn't work on me at all. Her brows are furrowed and she's regarding me like she's weighing my intentions, but, really now, I think that's completely unnecessary. There's absolutely nothing that I don't know about her, so she knows better than to try and hide anything from me—especially when a hot piece of hunky ass shows up in the morning in front of our door. His image materializes in my head, and all I want to do is squeeze his tight butt and run my fingernails down his abs and lick those fishy over-sized lips.

And then I remember how he just brushed me aside earlier on.

Such a buzz kill.

"You're being very transparent," I deadpan, because all her staring is starting to get creepy. "Is it Sam?"

I meet her stare head-on. She doesn't faze me in the slightest bit, and no matter how intimidating she used to be in high school, those eyes aren't going to do anything for me. I guess she sort of lost all her spunk now that she's being more…sensitive.

She's not backing down, but neither am I. Heck, I can do this all night if she wants. I'm not the one with the nine o'clock class, so if she's going to be stubborn and all, that's fine by me. Eventually, though, after about a minute of so—how pathetic—she caves in with a defeated groan, and I'm grinning in triumph. Simultaneously, we set our food down on the coffee table and she turns her body to face me.

"He knows."

Uh, okay…

"Who knows what?"

She's playing with the material of her grandma-inspired dress, and I'm cooking up a plan in my head to burn all those ugly things. God, she's nineteen; not ninety.

"Sam," she murmurs. "He knows about me. Being an Empath."

Oh…

I grab a cushion and hug it to my body. Quinn doesn't reveal herself to just anyone, so I suppose Trouty Mouth has to be important to her. This is going to be good, I can tell. "When did he find out?"

"Last night," she answers. "We were having dinner and then he had a call for an emergency case so I tagged along."

"Okay, okay, hold up, girl," I tell her, raising both hands to stop her. "Start from the beginning, and don't leave anything out."

She hesitates for a while, and I'm really wondering if I should just grab a fresh bottle of wine and intoxicate her before my patience runs out. I don't do well with suspense, but I can see that she's having trouble talking about it, and I decide I should cut her some slack. I've never actually seen her so flustered before.

"You can start by telling me how you two met," I hint.

"Well, you know how I've mentioned that my mum is working on this project up at the South Oak Mansion and that she's stressed out about how she couldn't get any contractors in there because weird things kept happening?"

I nod my head. "Yeah."

"I chanced upon this group of investigators on campus," she explains, tucking some hair behind her ear. "They're called Project Paranormal…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So…what do you think? I reckon because Quinn has to deal with all these emotions bombarding her, she would be confused and lost with her own feelings, and she needs to sort that out. Hopefully Santana can help!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! I'm glad that you loved Finn's POV! He's such an interesting character in the story and he brings a lot of humor too! Mike remains a mystery—as of now—but I've always liked a little Fabang action, but I'm not really banking on it. As for Artie, he might or might not know about Sam's dream :P Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's much appreciated!

**RJRRAA:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked it!

**Xleopardraindrop:** Hi there! Thank you so much for dropping by, and reading and reviewing my story! I'm glad you found Finn's POV entertaining. I seriously didn't want to degrade a character, and I also hope that Sam and Quinn can get over the tension :D LOL! Cheers!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Well, don't feel bad about it. I didn't receive alerts and notifications of any other stories too, and I didn't receive the notification for your review until three days later, so it's all good. Technical error, I suppose. Either way, thank you so much for checking up on this story and taking the time to read and review my chapter! I'm glad you like the fanfic so far! I know, I would think that even though they're both at wrong, I think Sam sort of crossed the line. I don't blame Quinn at all for thinking that he's trying to take advantage of her to get his answers, but I'm sure that's not the first thing on his mind anymore. As for Finn's POV, I'm glad you enjoyed it! I don't like degrading characters, and I'm not he wouldn't end up in college and be accepted as an investigator if he's plain stupid. He's got redeeming qualities that I like to see shine as well, and it makes him more endearing too. Don't worry about the Quinn thing, though. Finn's basically harmless, and I don't think he's going to be a huge jerk about the whole Sam and Quinn thing. I've lived in Singapore half my life, I mean, I was born here, and then my family moved to U.S for a bit to help my aunt's business, and now I'm back. I try not to Singlish as much as possible but people keep asking me about my accent, so I just pick it up for the sake of it. Really, terrible, though. Hope you've enjoyed the update!

**Alli2345:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the drama between Sam and Quinn! Cheers!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so much for your wonderful comments! I really appreciate it! Makes me all warm and tingly inside! Finn, to me, is the most interesting character—apart from Santana—because he's just so funny when he wants to be! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Let me know what you think! Cheers!

**JustMeMyselfI:** Rest assured, nothing's probably going to happen between Quinn and Finn—at the moment (God, I'm so evil)—no, but really, don't sweat it, hey. Finn is definitely silly, but he's a great material for humor!

**Quam314159:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Well, I hope Sam and Quinn make up soon too! Hopefully Santana can help? :P Cheers!

**Bunked:** Thank you so much for the wonderful comment! I'm glad you love it so far :D

**IshipFabrevans:** No worries about the Spanish bit, I'm seriously not offended, honest! LOL! Let me know what his reaction is! That ought to be funny! For Quinn, I would reckon she's at a stage where she's so overwhelmed with the emotions around her that she doesn't have the time to concentrate on her own, and that's probably what's holding her back from easily forgiving Sam. I mean, she still thinks that he's just trying to take advantage of her to attain answers for himself, but I guess he did mention in this chapter that, you know, he doesn't care about it anymore. Hopefully Quinn believes him or something, I don't know. Perhaps Santana can offer her own opinion? We'll see :P LOL on the Fuinn! Well, yes, I'm not a fan of the whole Fuinn thing either, but even I have to admit that he can be a rather endearing character sometimes, and yes, he's not remotely dumb. I mean, if he's able to go to college and be an investigator, he's got to have some intelligence at least. I like that his wit—for lack of a better word—is kept hidden so that only we know. I mean, apparently he doesn't portray his smarter side to the team, which makes it a little special that we're the fortunate ones to be able to know. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and always leaving great thoughts and comments about the chapter! I truly appreciate it! Loves!


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Alright, so this is chapter 15! I'd like to thank each and every one of you who have spent time reading and reviewing my story so far! Much love!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 15**

**Wednesday, 9.30pm**

**/Rachel Berry**

Sam is sulking again, just mindlessly pushing his food around the plate and I can't help sighing loudly in sheer annoyance. It has gone on for too long now. He's been like this ever since Quinn walked out on the group.

Yes, she walked out on the group, alright?

On her own accord.

A decision made solely by her.

But everybody's making it seem like it's my fault, and frankly, I can't understand why. I haven't outwardly insulted her or anything. In fact, I have been nothing but truthful in my opinions of her. She's a freaking Empath, anyway, so I doubt it'll do any good to lie to her and pretend about how I feel. I'm sorry if she's offended by it—or whatever—but she has to know that we can't just allow for anybody to join the club. Quinn can't just prance in here and change the rules. For all we know, she might not even be legit in her so-called 'abilities', like how I'm still skeptical about Artie.

There's no way of proving it. Maybe some people are just better at reading the reactions of others. How does somebody determine that they're an Empath? Is there a psychological examination for that? Does a doctor diagnose them with that, or just, you know, some alleged 'psychic' at the corner shop? Is there some sort of certification to attain?

I, for one, think it's a load of bull crap.

So sue me.

We're sitting in a booth at Burger Bar—which I totally loathe due to its more-than-necessary oil intake as well as calorie level—but the boys are all strapped for cash and I was outvoted. What else is new? It always seems like nobody's ever agreeable to my suggestions even though they are all clearly aware that I know what's best for everyone. I'm perhaps the best decision-maker in the group, but nobody ever listens. A perfect example would be my protest against calling Quinn back into Project Paranormal.

The moment Sam had torn out of the room to get her, I knew it was a terrible mistake, but of course nobody actually cared enough to consider my standpoint. I like to think that I'm a forward-thinker so that I'm constantly one step ahead of others, and I don't like how impulsive my team leader is being with the situation. He came back, dejected and beaten down, and it had been a torture to bite my tongue and hold back a comment, for I had known that if the words 'I told you so' had escaped my mouth, I would have gotten a tongue lashing by everybody.

I can never win, can I?

All I'm doing is looking out for the best in the team, and I'm just sad that no one can see or appreciate it.

What's so good about Quinn Fabray, anyway?

"Okay, stop that right now, Sam," I finally speak up, placing my utensils down. "Stop moping around, it's pathetic."

Everybody freezes.

I'm coping an eyeful from Mike and Finn, and even Artie. I reckon it has to be the 'bros before hoes' analogy and promptly ignore it. Instead, I casually pick up the serviette and daintily dab my lips, glancing over to see Tina's reaction. She is slowly chewing her food, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Sam, and I wonder how Artie is feeling right now. I'll bet he's picking up on all the bad vibes and negative energy hovering around the table.

I would think it's obvious.

"Just lay off him, okay, Rachel?" Mike says in a tired tone.

"What did I do?"

"Not right now, alright?"

"Look, Quinn chose to leave on her own," I continue, disregarding the Asian boy's warning. "I think you should accept that and move on. I should've told you not to get too attached, I mean, she's just another girl and it's just unfortunate that she's not a fit for this team."

Sam doesn't even look up to acknowledge that I'm speaking to him, and I frown at his rude behavior. I'm sure his parents raised him to be a better person than that. Regardless, I'm sure he can hear me, and it's not like he's the one asking me to leave him alone. I'm just going to assume that he's listening to me for once.

"Sam, you're a really nice guy," I attempt again, and I can see from the corner of my eye that Finn's trying to cut in, so I raise one hand up to stop him. He's being a little too ballsy today, and I'm not going to be talked down by a nitwit whose average academic percentage doesn't even hit sixty. "But you're just too naïve when it comes to the topic of girls, and it's not like you to believe everything without investigating first. I'm just concerned for you, as a friend—"

Finn scoffs then, interrupting me.

"Do you have anything to say?" I ask him pointedly.

"Since when have you been concerned about anyone but yourself, Rach?" he retorts back.

I gasp in abhorrence. How dare he!

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, glaring at him from across the table.

"It means, simply put, that you've always been a selfish and judgmental bitch," Finn sneers.

"Take that back!" I cry out, jumping to my feet.

He does the same and brings his nose inches away from mine. "Not a chance," he seethes through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing, and it catches me off guard for a bit. We've always engaged in a love/hate banter—more hate than love, really—but never have I seen Finn so enraged before. "You always think that you're Little Miss Know-it-All."

That's because I am.

"But news flash, Berry, nobody appreciates your condescending remarks."

Big words for such a small-brained guy.

I slam my palms down on the tabletop. "Nobody ever appreciates what I do in the group, anyway so you can just shove it, Finn," I snap. He retreats and lowers himself back onto the seat. "Here I am doing my best to fix this dumb situation and what do I get in return? What is wrong with you people? You easily allow a girl—an Empath—to manipulate your minds—"

"Technically, we can't do that," Artie butts in.

He just wore off my last nerve.

"I don't give a damn. The group is falling apart," I declare. "You have to snap out of it, Sam. Quinn has left the group and there's nothing you can do about it. Move on and forget her. You have more important things to deal with. Besides, you've only met her for, what, two days? We can all see how smitten you are with her but did it occur to you that perhaps she was just seducing you into pulling her into the team?"

"Stop it—" Finn begins, but I'm allowing none of it.

"She's not worth it, Sam," I reinstate, hoping that it'll drill into his mind this time round. "Whatever you've felt for Quinn, that childish crush, it's got to go. I can't see you like this, all broody and Edward Cullen-like pre-Bella. She lied to you—to all of us—and you're just going to give her the satisfaction of breaking your heart—"

"That's enough, Rachel," Mike says sharply. "You're not making this any better."

"I beg to differ," I huff, crossing my arms across my torso.

"Nobody's smiling," he mutters. "You're causing more agitation just by opening your mouth."

"Fine, I get it," I tell the group. "We're all really tired from the late investigation and the early classes, and it's causing the unmistakable friction. Why don't we sleep on it tonight so that we can start afresh tomorrow? Probably then you'll realize the truth in my words and admit that what I'm saying is right."

"Just shut up, Rach, please," Artie rolls his blue eyes. "You're causing a scene."

Immediately I look around the diner and realize the people staring back at me, and this is embarrassing. Clearing my throat, I flash the crowd a megawatt smile and plop back down on the cushioned chair.

"I'm sorry," I say, directing my apology to Sam, but he still hasn't taken his gaze off his barely-touched meal.

"Let's just finish this up and leave, okay?" Mike suggests.

I couldn't have said it better myself.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 10.15pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

"Do me a favor, Quinn and pour me another glass of wine, please."

She rolls her eyes in that typical H.B.I.C fashion and I get this strangest sense of déjà vu right back to when we were in high school. Maybe it's the buzz from all that glasses I've been downing that's fogging my brain a bit, but I've always been better at holding my liquor than Lady Prude over there. I pass my flute over and she fills it up with a generous amount of Chardonnay.

"Don't you have classes tomorrow?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

"Yup," I reply before taking a swig.

So I take my wine like beer, so what?

"Are you going to have a massive hangover?" she wonders.

"Not unless you add vodka in the mix," I tell her, setting my glass on the side table. "But your story doesn't require such a strong hit, so I'm good."

"Do you think I did the right thing?"

It takes me a couple of seconds to process that, and then I remember what she's referring to. Weird man in Sam's dream, huh? That's a shit load of intensity right there, not to mention fucking creepy. I would rather enjoy it more if Ryan Seacrest stalks my dream, but there's no way in hell am I going to let some old dude molest my beauty sleep.

First of all, though, I would like to address how proud I am that little Quinnie here is finally crawling out of the rabbit hole enough to let some guy kiss her after just a day of knowing him. Well, it doesn't break my record of fifteen minutes, but it's an improvement—for her, at least since she's so high-strung half the time. She's always been a guarded person, and after learning of her sensitivity, I've begun to understand why. I guess it's tough enough trying to ignore other people's emotions, but it's got to be a bitch to protect her own.

Secondly, I'm impressed by how much stuff can happen in a span of twenty-four hours. Where was I when all this action was happening? Oh wait; I was at home, nursing my loneliness with Audrey Hepburn. God, I am officially lamer than Quinn Fabray. That's tragic right there.

"Of course you did the right thing," I say, because it's true. "You always do."

She doesn't look convinced. "Really?"

"Yeah," I lift up one shoulder. "But that doesn't mean you did the best thing."

Her brows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"There has to be a reason why you're telling me all this," I reply. "Why are you so unsure about your decision? You're stepping away before things get complicated, which I suppose is right, but you're still questioning yourself."

"Okay, I did not catch anything you just said."

I sigh. Do I really have to spell it out for her? "Your head and your heart are conflicting with each other. What you did was to follow your head. I'm just acting out your heart."

She stares at me for a moment. "That's deep."

"It's the Chardonnay," I smirk. "Works like magic."

"Well, what do you think I should do?"

"Nothing."

Duh.

"Nothing?" she parrots back unsurely.

I nod in affirmation. "This is his battle, Quinn. Right now, you've lain out your cards for him; the ball—no pun intended—is in his court. How much is he willing to risk to get what he wants?"

"He told me that I don't even have to help him with his dream anymore," she murmurs. "He just doesn't want me to leave."

Oh, wow. New information.

Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask, "then why did you?"

"I just don't want him to take advantage of my abilities."

"But you want to help him."

She opens her mouth, and then pauses and rethinks her answer. "I do."

Okay, my head is starting to throb now. I should get another refill of wine. This girl is ruling my mind like a damn roller coaster; it's coiling my brains into a knot. Maybe I should just sign her up for a session with Oprah.

"So you don't mind him taking advantage of you?"

"Yes—well, no—"

"Which one is it?"

"I don't know," she groans, dropping her face into the palms of her hands. "That's why I'm asking you."

"And why you think this would be my area of expertise is beyond me," I snort. "Nevertheless I'm flattered that you've come to the Queen of Hearts for advice."

"Which is…"

"Nothing," I tell her. "Do absolutely nothing. If he really needs you as much as he said, he'll step up his game and get his hot ass on the line."

"Did you just call Sam Evans' ass 'hot'?"

Oh, dear God.

"That's beside the point," I brush off with a flippant wave of my hand. "Let him work for it."

"So I'll just have to keep dodging him?"

I quirk an eyebrow. "Have you not done that before?"

Quinn shakes her head.

"What a darling virgin," I croon. "Don't worry, though, you'll do fine."

"For how long?"

"Till you find that he deserves your attention."

Again, duh.

"And how will I know that?" she questions out loud. "What if he doesn't do anything?"

"Quinn, you're so lost, it's almost too cute," I say, helping myself to another helping of wine. "If he doesn't do anything, then that's his loss, isn't it?"

"But I want to help him."

"Then I suggest you just trust me."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 10.50pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"You're not going to give up, are you?"

The night is cold and windy as Sam and I are strolling back to the dorms, and I quickly hug my jacket closer to my body, stuffing my hands into the warm pockets. The dude's been relatively silent throughout the entire supper. Heck, he totally ignored Rachel Berry, which in my experience is a near-to-impossible feat, considering how much she actually craves for attention.

Now that it's just the both of us, I'm hoping he'd be a little less somnambulistic and tell me what's wrong, you know, man to man. I know how bummed he is that Quinn left the group, and I have to say that I'm rather shocked when she announced it since I truly thought that inviting her over for analysis would make her feel included. Apparently, I was wrong. I guess she just had enough of all the complications with being an Empath and whatnot, and paired with Rachel's blunt comments, I suppose the obvious choice would be to leave.

And that sucks, because she'll be an amazing addition to the team. Special abilities aside, she's an incredibly fast-learner, and she picks up on the smallest detail. Just earlier on, she picked up on some form of shadow play when Rachel and I had been in the cellar. It was really fast, like a split second thing, but she spotted it immediately and called it to attention for me to verify. I even had to slow it down a notch to figure out what she had been referring to, and I was impressed. When I had presented it to the team afterwards, even Artie was dumbstruck at how Quinn had managed to see it. Rachel, or course, had scoffed at it. I don't even know what her problem is with Quinn.

So what if she's an Empath?

"I don't know, Mike," he mutters, staring down at the pavement. "I really like her."

"Do you, now?"

Sam turns his head to look at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you sure have a weird way of showing it to her," I tell him.

"What are you talking about?" he snaps, getting defensive.

"When was the last time you actually spoke to Quinn before she left?" I ask as we cross the courtyard towards the Engineering building.

"When we went to grab a bite," he says. "I sent Finn back so that I can have a word with her."

"And what exactly did you tell her?"

He jams his hands into the pockets of his pants and shrugs his shoulders. "I apologized and told her that I was totally out of line for kissing her that morning."

I skid to a halt.

"You what?"

He pauses upon realizing what he had just unintentionally blurt out. His eyes widen and his mouth hangs open. "I—erm, I—"

"You kissed her?" I exclaim.

"Well, I wanted her to stop talking and—"

"You fucking idiot!" I growl out, slapping him on the back of his head. He probably deserves more than that.

"Ow!" he howls and rubs the spot.

"How can you be so stupid?" I fume. God, now it all totally makes sense. "And then you apologized for it?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I don't want her to think I was taking advantage of her."

I roll my eyes all the way to back into my skull. "Dude, telling her that you kissed her just to shut her up is probably worse."

"But it was true," he says.

I sigh and shake my head, and then I start walking again. "You've got a lot to learn, buddy."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Sam mumbles.

"I can get a girlfriend if I wanted to, okay, I just choose not to have one," I huff. "A relationship is way too troublesome for me, but you have to fix this with Quinn; for all our sakes. I'd like for her to be back in the team."

He gives me a pointed look. "Why?"

I know I'm going to have a rise out of this one. "Because I like her."

"Dude—"

"Not like that," I snicker, holding my hands up in surrender to let him know that I mean no harm. "I know she's all yours, you might as well pee over her."

Sam glares hard at me. "Real classy, Mike."

"But it's true," I mimic his earlier words.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure she hates me now," he mutters.

"She doesn't hate you, Sam—"

"How do you—"

"She just needs some space," I tell him. "Give her some time, you know, I'm sure she'll talk to you soon."

He sighs, like a kicked little puppy, and it's a little bit pathetic, actually. "She said 'I'll see you around'. What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," I say. "She'll come to you when she's ready."

"Are you sure?" he asks. "What if she doesn't?"

"Then you'll know when it's time."

"Time for what?"

"To go after her."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, here you go! Chapter 15 is more about Sam and Quinn separately, and how they're both presented with different opinions. So what's going to happen between them now? Hehe…guess we'll see…

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I guess you can say that Sam is clearly devastated in this chapter, I mean, he's not depressed, but I'm sure he feels that he could've done things differently.

**DeGleesi:** Hello! I'm glad that you like the story so far! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and leaving wonderful comments. I really appreciate it! I'm looking forward to the right time to actually write Quinn's POV because that's going to be a little challenging, I can already tell. Santana is such a fun character to play with, I hope you've enjoyed her POV in this chapter, and I agree with you completely. I think it'll be really interesting if she follows in an investigation, so we'll see :P

**Mandorac:** Hi! Thank you so much for diligently reading and reviewing each time. I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! I agree with you that at this point of time, they have things to work out on, and they might have to start from ground zero. It actually broke my heart a little that I had to write it that way, but I suppose it had to be done. I'm glad you liked Santana's POV. It had been fun to write her and dive into her head. She makes another appearance in this chapter, hopefully you'll like that too! I don't want to spoil anything for you, but let's just say that the investigation's not completely done yet :P

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for constantly reading and reviewing my story! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you like the Santana and Quinn's friendship. I certainly enjoyed writing them together!

**Quam314159:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Yeah, I hope that Santana and Mike can help being Sam and Quinn together. Cheers!

**IShipFabrevans:** Hi! Hehe…I suppose at this point of time, Sam and Quinn would be sort of away from each other for a while, and yes, it actually broke my heart a little when I wrote that scene when Quinn left the team. I'm glad you like Rachel's character! I hope you've enjoyed her POV in this chapter! I think her skepticism here plays some sort of role in the story. I'm also glad that you loved Santana's POV. She's such a fin character to write! I think I've reviewed on 'Crazy Love' and it was a great chapter! Have a great trip! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! It is always much appreciated!


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **Hi guys! I'm sorry this update took quite a while. I was writing this and somewhere towards the end, I didn't like it, so I re-wrote half of the chapter, which took quite some time. Also, things are piling up at work. But on the side note: I'm going for the Lady Gaga's Monster Ball when she comes to Singapore! Epic!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 16**

**Thursday, 11.30am**

**/Sam Evans**

I've never liked studying in the library.

There's just something about sitting in a cramped booth surrounded by piles of books that makes all the space seem small and redundant; like a paradox, and if it's not for this twelve-page essay that I need to write on stellar dynamics, I probably would be doing my research elsewhere.

At least it's quiet here. The lack of jovial song sessions helps with my work, because being dyslexic takes twice as long to read a paragraph, and then three times longer to understand the contents—especially when they're all filled with jargon and scientific terms.

My roommate, Blaine Anderson, always has his boyfriend over, and they'd regularly burst into a random Broadway number—complete with those exaggerated dance moves, mind you—which will then be all the caterwauling I would need to drive me out of the place. Sometimes I think they're doing that on purpose just so they can have the room to themselves. Lord knows what they constantly do in there, I mean; they're like a pair of vampires. They rarely go out in the sun and they pig out watching musicals all the time. Well, just my luck to bunk in with a gay guy—no offense, though, I have nothing against his sexuality—but I would appreciate it more if they can at least respect my space enough and not convert it into a love nest.

Maybe I should just swap rooms with Puck—Mike's roommate—since he's hardly ever there. The dude goes bed-hopping like he goes through Kleenex—use once and throw away—and I'm pretty sure he's exhausted every available girl on campus.

I wonder if he's been with Quinn before.

Shit.

That's when I realize my mistake.

The image of the angelic blonde beauty—the one I've been desperately trying not to think about—springs into my head; her stunning hazel eyes, her flawless features, her full lips—so soft and inviting—and her golden sun-kissed hair, and I'm totally losing it. I blink for a bit, glancing down at the page full of words and the alphabets are in a jumbled mess. Then, I shift my gaze to the screen on my ancient laptop but nothing makes sense.

"Damnit," I whisper.

There goes my essay. I'm barely even halfway through but my brains feel like a bust, and it's not even lunchtime. Right on cue, my stomach starts rumbling, and I figure I should probably grab some rocket fuel—astronomy joke, ha-ha—before I attempt another go at tackling this assignment.

Maybe that's it.

Maybe I'm just hungry, which I guess explains the light-headed feeling that's robbing me of my concentration. I check the time on my wristwatch. Finn should be done with his class right about now. As I wait for the sloth-like computer to shut down, I start gathering the books that I would like to check out of the library for further references. I have this anal lecturer who insists that we get our information the old-school way; in other words, not from the Internet, which makes it absolutely tedious. I'm limited to published journals and articles, and since the university doesn't necessarily emphasize on their Astronomy program, us students are constantly battling tooth and nail with each other for dibs on the materials made accessible to us. It's like Hunger Games or something.

Folding my laptop, I tuck it between the books and walk back to the shelves to return the ones that I don't need. I'm shifting down the aisles, reading off the tiny labels till I find the designated slot. After double-checking the codes on the spines, I slip three books in between the metal stopper.

A flash of color catches my eye and I glance up between the spaces of the shelves.

"Quinn," I breathe.

She looks up from the page.

The instant our gazes interlock, I hear the alarm going off in my head, but I'm frozen on the spot. My throat is closing up on me and I'm losing the ability to speak, and she looks like she had just seen an apparition of a ghost.

"Sam," she whispers. "Hi."

Recovering from my initial shock, I clear my throat and will my best not to appear as nervous as I honestly feel. I'm sure she can already tell, but I'll take my chances. "Hi."

We stand there staring at each other for a few more seconds—a shelf of books between us—both unsure of what to say, until I realize that she's in the Astronomy section and remember her mentioning that she's majoring in Mass Communication.

"What are you doing here?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

"I'm looking for some reference books," she replies with a small smile.

"In the Astronomy section?"

She shrugs in that nonchalant way and I find myself starting to relax a little, I mean, at least she's politely talking to me. "I needed some stuff about the galaxies and the milky way."

Still, I'm not entirely sure how to go about reacting to such a situation. Mike's advise had been to give her some space, and I don't want to come across too overbearing, but I'm suddenly aware of how easy it is to carry out a normal conversation with her like we had before, without the awkwardness—or too much awkwardness—for that matter. It's been sixteen hours since I had last seen her, and I've come to realize how empty my night had been without her presence.

"Erm…do you need some help?" My voice is getting embarrassingly squeaky, and I feel the blood whoosh up to my face.

"No, it's okay," she says. "I think I've got it covered."

I nod, and we're back to the silent stares.

And then it occurs to me what I had been planning to do before I got distracted, and I'm thinking if it would be weird for me to ask her out for lunch.

But what if she's already had lunch?

No harm asking, right?

I take a deep breath.

"I should go," she speaks up before I can even open my big mouth. "I've got a lunch date."

There's a dull pang in my chest and a rush of ugly emotions start crashing over me in huge waves. The pit of my stomach bubbles, overwhelming me with this burning sense of dread. Instinctively, I tighten my grip on the books as a million possibilities race through my head.

What—who—when—how?

"A date?" I manage to choke out, already picturing the next face to pummel.

Her eyes widen and she shifts a little.

Oh, fuck, did she read that?

"With Santana," she quickly adds. "She insists we try out the new café at the corner."

I release the breath that I don't even realize I'm holding. "Oh. Cool."

"Yeah," she murmurs, closing the book in her hands. "So, I should probably—"

"Yeah, yeah," I blurt out. "Me too. I'm supposed to meet Finn, actually."

"Cool."

Awkward monosyllabic responses. Great.

Way to go, Evans.

"It's nice bumping into you, Sam," she tells me softly.

The smile is already spreading across my face before I can do anything to stop it. I'm not sure if it's from the relief, or from the fact that Quinn Fabray is being civil to me despite the shit that I did to her, but it's there and it feels good. "You too, Quinn."

She starts to go and I do an abrupt turn, but something is still not right. "Wait, Quinn?" I call out, whirling around to face her again.

Her blonde hair whips in the air as she swivels her head. "Yes?"

My mind blanks out. "Uh…"

She hugs the book to her body and patiently waits for me to continue.

Yeah, if I can only figure out what it is.

"Have a nice day, Quinn."

"Thank you, Sam. You have a nice day, too."

I give her another nod, and when it seems like there's nothing else to say, I stiffly pivot on my heels and start heading for the check-out counter.

"Hey, Sam?"

Quick as a whip, I spin around to face her once more. "Yes?"

"I didn't get to thank you for covering up for me yesterday," she softly tells me. "So, thank you, Sam. You didn't have to do it."

There's a tingly warm sensation spreading in my chest, and my lips twitch upwards in a lopsided grin. "I wanted to. You shouldn't have to take any crap from the crew, and I'm really sorry for yesterday."

"I know," she whispers. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

I hesitate, wondering if that's the end of our conversation.

"I should go," she adds after a significant pause. "Santana."

"Yeah. Right."

Still, neither one of us are moving.

Taking a deep breath, I make a gamble for it. "You coming for the reveal tonight, Quinn?"

"I'll think about it."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 12.15pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

"You talked to Sam?" I exclaim, loud enough for the entire café to hear.

"Shhh…" my blonde best friend shushes, her rosy cheeks turning a deeper shade of crimson as she nervously glances around the place at the other patrons—not like there's many. It's barely even half-filled. "Keep it down, San."

Folding my arms below my breasts, I narrow my eyes accusingly at her. "I thought I told you to avoid him?"

She shrugs her petite shoulders helplessly. "Well, I was in the library, and he just saw me," she explains, her hands gesturing animatedly in the air in that funny way she does whenever she's flustered. That's cute. "What was I supposed to do? Pretend that I don't know him and walk away?"

"Uh, yeah," I say. "That would be the ideal thing to do when you're trying not to talk to someone."

Quinn rolls her doe-like eyes and picks up her fork. "He was being shy and sweet and nervous, and it was making _me_ feel shy and sweet and nervous, so I just figured I shouldn't torture the guy." She starts pushing her salad around. "Besides, I felt guilty, I mean, he was making an effort—like you said—to talk to me. The least I could do is to listen, right?"

I feel like smacking her face with a slab of steak. "You're supposed to show him that he can't affect you in any way."

She points her silverware at me. "But you're the one who said 'let him work for it'."

"Exactly. He can't work for it if you keep relenting."

She sighs, as though the concept is so difficult to grasp, but really? This girl has the tolerance of a goldfish. She wouldn't survive it if we're on Pretty Little Liars, but at least she has me. I suppose she can be salvaged.

"He asked me if I'm coming for the reveal tonight," she mutters.

I take a sip of my iced tea. "Please tell me you said 'no'."

"I said 'I'll think about it'."

That's quite a relief to hear, actually. There's hope for her yet.

"But you're not going, right?" I ask her.

"Well—"

"No."

"What? Why not?"

I spear a slice of carrot with my fork. "Because you are going to make him work for it," I say before chewing on the vegetable.

She's not catching any ball. "How?"

Before I end up choking on her naivety, I swallow my food and take another sip of water. Sometimes it's hard to remember that she was once the captain of the cheerleading team when she's got an experience of a sixth grader. I just pray to God that her favorite party game isn't 'spin the bottle' or 'seven minutes in heaven' or some other lame stuff. Ever since we've moved into an apartment together and decided to conquer the world on our own, I've made it my personal mission to corrupt her as much as possible.

"He'll expect you to show up, right? So when you don't, he'll have to ask why, but you're going to avoid that confrontation because you're playing hard to get," I explain.

"That doesn't sound too practical."

Oh, Lord of Mercy.

"He hurt you, didn't he?" I remind her seriously. "He kissed you, and he betrayed your trust and hurt you, when I've clearly warned him not to, so it's either I rip his balls out or you whip his ass for me."

"Look, Santana, he said he was sorry and I believe him," she leans back on the seat, placing her hands neatly on her lap. Does she have to be so dainty all the time? "Why can't we just forgive and forget?"

"Because you want to know if he's genuine in wanting you back."

"But it's not like we're going to start dating or anything," Quinn mumbles. "I think we've established the mutual agreement of starting off as friends."

I scoff at that. Seriously? "Don't give me that bull shit, Blondie. I've seen the way Fishy Lips looks at you—like he's mentally undressing you all the time—and even though I can't help thinking he might be a tad bit gay, I don't think there's any chance of this starting of as 'just friends'. Really, Quinn, you just transported yourself back to freshman year."

"We moved too fast the first time round, so maybe starting over is a good thing."

"I'm not saying it's a bad thing," I tell her, poking around my plate for the lettuce. "All I'm saying is that you can't give in so easily. You are worth so much more than you think, and if he can't see that, then he's not worth it. Or he's a dumbass."

"So I should go for the reveal tonight?"

"No, you shouldn't."

"But my mum's going to wonder why I'm in the clips from the investigation," she says, her brows furrowing.

"Well, then let's see how well Sam can lie to her."

She's gnawing on her bottom lip. "No, maybe I should go. You know how she is."

"For heaven's sake, Quinn," I groan. "If I have to strap you to a chair and handcuff you to me, I will, and you know it."

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?" she points out.

"Hey, you're asking for it."

"Okay, fine," the blonde concedes, throwing her arms up in defeat. "I won't go, but if I get a phone call from my mum after this, you'll have to answer her."

"Nuh-uh, Queen Bee," I say, shaking my head. "That one is all you."

The entrance bell jingles and I glace over her shoulders to see a hunky specimen of the male species step through the doorway in all his Mohawk glory, scruffy jeans and leather jacket. He takes off his aviators and promptly scans the café, looking a bit misplaced. His gaze lands on me, and those caramel-colored eyes glistens as his lips twitch upwards in a cocky smirk. Can I start salivating right now?

"Hubba, hubba," I mutter under my breath.

Quinn notices me staring and cranes her neck around.

"Urgh," she huffs. "That's Noah Puckerman. He's in my Geography class and he's an obnoxious pig."

"Well, you don't know for sure," I purr as I watch him stride over to a nearby booth and examine the menu. "He's hot stuff."

"He also snores like a freaking buzz saw."

"You've slept with him?" I shriek.

Quinn leans over and whacks my arm. "No, you pervert," she hisses. "He sleeps in class all the time. It irritates the hell out of me."

"You think you can hook me up?" I whisper, still keeping my eyes locked onto his fine frame.

"No!" she reels back in disgust. "God, I don't even know him that well."

"Damn, Quinn, you're such a cock-blocker," I complain in total prissy mode.

"Look, why don't you just go over and introduce yourself?" she suggests. "I'm sure it'll be far more effective."

Of course. Why didn't I think of that?

Fluffing up my hair a little, I ensure that my lip-gloss is still intact before flashing my pearly whites. "Anything stuck in there?"

"No."

"Okay, good. I'm going in."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 3.45pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

"Dude, you talked to Quinn?"

My ears perk up at the mention of a certain blonde's name and I glance up from my computer screen to look at Mike, who's standing by Sam's desk. At the outburst, my team leader ducks his head to avoid any eye contact with the Asian guy. Everybody sort of stops what they're doing to listen in on the commotion. I'm currently compiling all the audio evidence from the review and labeling them accordingly for the reveal with Judy later on, and Rachel is helping Tina document the investigation while Artie's consolidating some back-up references should we need any to verify our claims.

"Yeah," I hear Sam murmur.

"So, you caved?" Mike asks him, arching an eyebrow.

"I didn't cave," Sam defends himself. "I just happened to bump into her in the library."

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. Isn't 'bump into' sort of like a code for 'stalking'? Wait, Sam and I had lunch earlier on. Why didn't he tell me about this?

"What did you say to her?" Mike continues asking.

From the edge of my monitor, I can see his shoulder rise up and down in a shrug. "I asked if she was coming for the reveal tonight."

"What?"

Everybody turns to face Rachel now and she's looking completely outraged. She's on her feet, fists clenching, her nose are flaring and her bigger-than-average ears are turning red. Tina is just gaping at her, stunned by her reaction, and I notice Mike sighing.

"Why would you do that?" Rachel demands.

"Because she was part of the investigation," Sam calmly answers her, already accustomed to her dramatic ways.

"Key word there, Sam; 'was'," the brunette retorts heatedly. "She isn't anymore. Quinn has decided to leave. What more must I do to stamp that into your head?"

"Okay, first of all, Rachel, I think you should tone it down a bit," Sam tells her. "You're being irrational here. We're all aware of what Quinn has chosen for herself, but you don't have to be bitter about it. I just felt that it would be the right thing to do and include her in the reveal. Judy is, after all, her mum, and we're all still friends with her."

"I'm disappointed in you, Sam," Rachel goes on, shaking her head in disbelief. "She lied to you, and she put herself and all of us in danger. How can you just forgive her?"

"She's already apologized for that, Rach, okay, so just drop it," Sam counters. "We all screw up once in a while. Must I remind you of the time you erased an important footage that contained critical evidence to that case?"

That finally shut the girl up as she blushes furiously. I'm watching this back and forth argument, and I still can't understand what all the fuss is about that's constantly getting Rachel all worked up. I've already established that she doesn't really like Quinn much—not after we all found out about her being an Empath—but I have a nagging feeling that this is more than that.

"We can't just let her back in," Rachel quietly adds in.

"Doesn't matter either way, because I don't think she's coming back," Sam announces, and I my heart sinks at the news.

"Why not?" I question.

"I—I don't know," Sam says, shifting his eyes down to the ground. "She did mention that she'll think about it, though."

"Well, at least there's a possibility, right?" I point out, trying to lighten the mood in the room. The air is so tensed; it's like a funeral of some sort.

"Yeah, I suppose," Sam mumbles.

I sneak a glimpse over at Rachel and she's frowning, clearly not pleased with the whole situation. It seems like she has more to say about this, and weighing it out whether or not she ought to say anything. She catches my eyes and I subtly shake my head, hoping she'll get my message. Lips set in a straight line, she silently lowers herself back onto her seat, and I release the breath that I'm holding.

Crisis averted.

"Maybe you should call her," Mike suggests to him.

"I don't have her number," Sam admits sheepishly. "But I do know where she lives."

What? How's that possible? Did they sleep together? Already? I mean, that doesn't make sense, considering they've known each other for less than a week.

"That's kind of creepy," I comment. "Did you, like, follow her home?"

He glares over at me. "No," he replies. "I had to send her home after our investigation."

Oh. Well, that explains it.

"Right," I cough out.

"I think she did a really good job during the investigation," Mike voices out. "I mean, disregarding the Empath thing, but I feel that she handled the situation well, for a damn rookie. She didn't freak out or run screaming out of the house. She probably felt a lot more than we did and she's not afraid. Quinn knew exactly what to look out for, and she remembered to tag everything she heard and saw. She's a great candidate for an investigator."

"Mike's right," I chime, nodding in agreement. "Even after everything—like when I got hurt by that fucking door—she was still in the game. It'll be a shame not to have her in the team."

"So what do we do about it?" Artie asks.

"Nothing," Rachel snaps, losing it all over again. "We do nothing about it, alright. If she wants to come back to the group, she can do so on her own. Who does she think she is? The Queen of England?"

"Hey, chill out, Rachel," Tina tells her. "You don't have to feel so threatened."

Rachel's long dark hair whips across her face as she turns to face the other girl. "I am not threatened by her," she screeches. "I just don't see why she has to receive such special treatment. I had to go through levels of initiations before I even bumped up from 'rookie' to 'trainee'."

"It's doesn't matter," Sam's voice echoes throughout the room as he springs up from his seat. "She's not even here, so what difference does this make?"

With that, he just storms towards the door, shoves it open and swings it shut with a loud bang, his heavy footsteps reverberating down the hallway. The rest of us just sit in silence, stunned by the intensity of his reaction. It's clear just how much pent-up frustration he has in his body, and maybe it's a good thing to let him go blow off some steam before we face the client. Apparently this thing with Quinn is affecting him more than we all think. I glance around at the crew, and we all have this matching guilty looks—well, all of us but Rachel—and no matter how much this irks me, I feel that it's got to be done.

"We need to get her back."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yay! Fabrevans interaction and a small Puck/Santanna introduction. They might be a fun pair to play around with in the future, but I'm keeping that for now. Overall, I hope you guys like this chapter. It's a little slow at the moment, but it'll pick up! I promise :D

**Mandorac:** Hi there! As always, I'll start by thanking you for your wonderful time and dedication in reading and reviewing my story! It's greatly appreciated! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, and I really enjoyed writing Rachel's burger joint scene :D That was so much fun because she's just so over-the-top it's great to be able to exaggerate stuff. For the advice given to Sam and Quinn, I guess that sort of goes down the drain now, doesn't in? LOL! This update is slower than usual because it's been a crazy week, and I actually re-wrote half of the chapter. I wasn't happy with how I initially wrote it, so I went back and just re-did half the chapter. Let me know how you feel about this update, yeah?

**DeGleesi:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I appreciate it a lot! I'm happy that you found the previous chapter humorous! Rachel's a blast to write because she's so eccentric at times and she doesn't even know it! I would love to see Sam and Quinn make up too, but at least they're civil in this chapter, right? That's an improvement at least :D Mike Chang is an awesome character, and I totally agree with you on all accounts. At the moment, I'm keeping to the characters that I already have, and I did sort of introduce Puck in this chapter. I've also mentioned Brittany in one of the previous chapters, so she'll come up somewhere in the middle. Cheers!

**Quam314159:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story so far! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! You have never failed to review each time! Thank you so much for taking time to read and leave comments!

**Alli2345:** Hi! LOL! In what way is Finn scary? I think maybe he does seem a little bit possessive and what not, but he's still a sweetheart, right? I'm glad you like Santana's POV! It's always been my favorite to write because she can get away with saying just about anything! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated!

**Rachelxbabbyy:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the story! It's much appreciated and it feels good to always find new readers to interact with! I'm glad you like the story so far, and I'm really flattered! Hope you continue to enjoy it! Cheers!


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **It's been a tough week, so this update isn't as exciting as the others. I know that's not an excuse, but I had to find a sort-of conclusion to the investigation so that the real story can begin.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 17**

**Thursday, 7.35pm**

**/Mike Chang**

We're all sitting in a small conference room, the laptop and speakers already set up, silently waiting for Judy to arrive. The receptionist had mentioned that she would be with us in a bit and had been kind enough to give us a bigger room, considering all of us are here for this reveal. Usually, it would only be just Sam and I presenting the evidence, but since everybody had some sort of experience during the investigation, it seems valid for each of us to share and give a more accurate account.

The atmosphere is thick, the remnants of the tension from earlier on still lingering in the air. Everybody is solemnly glancing down at the huge-ass table in the middle, with Rachel thankfully on her best non-accusatory behavior. She has been relatively quiet after realizing that her obnoxious ways aren't appreciated, choosing instead to keep unwanted comments to herself, which on her part is the smartest move she has ever made. Her attitude towards Quinn is totally uncalled for and it's simply agitating to constantly hear those unwarranted opinions. She honestly needs to know when to keep her big mouth shut.

Sam hasn't said much either, but I know it's only because he's trying to be professional about it. I can tell the dude is merely seconds away from self-combusting and I'm very sure that the smallest of things can set him off. He's usually not the sort to lose his temper, and he rarely flares up. For as long as I've known him, Sam has always been a level-headed person; snapping only when provoked or when he cares too much. In this instance, though, it's got to be the latter, considering the circumstances with Quinn. He's probably expecting her to show up. It's actually quite fascinating how he's so affected by her departure. I'm starting to think it's a lot more than meets the eye than a mere infatuation.

There's a sharp knock on the door, and a beat later, a lady enters, looking prim and proper in a gray pantsuit and a string of pearls around her neck. Her blonde hair is up in a tight bun, and for all it's worth; she doesn't look anything like her daughter. The resemblance is next to nothing, and nobody would even suspect that they're marginally related. She smiles warmly down at us, her eyes looking tired from the day's work.

"Hi, guys," she greets.

"Judy." Sam extends his hand to shake hers. "Nice to see you again."

"It's good to see you too," she replies, lowering down on the vacant chair by the laptop and placing her cell phone on the table. "Thank you so much for going down and investigating the mansion on such short notice. I really appreciate it. The caretaker resigned this morning, and I still can't find a replacement. She's still pretty shaken up from that ordeal."

"It's no trouble at all. We're happy to help in any way we can," Sam tells her, taking over his leadership role.

"Did you manage to find anything?" Judy asks, sweeping her gaze over to address the rest of us. "It seems like your entire team is here."

"When you called, we didn't have the time to set up all of our equipment like we did the first time," Sam explains. "But we headed in with mini-DVs and digital audio recorders that still managed to capture some interesting things for you. Now, what we're about to show you are compilations of evidence collected from both of our investigations."

He gestures to me and I pull up the first clip from the taskbar. "So for the first day, we broke into groups of two, and I was with Finn down in the cellar, where you claimed that workers have heard disembodied voices. We did an EVP session and tried to establish contact, and at one point of time, I asked if there was anybody in there with us to make a noise or give us a sign. About seconds later, we got a response."

I take that as my cue to play the audio for her as she leans forward to hear. Sam's voice emanates from the speakers, and then Finn and him sort of gasp simultaneously.

"Could you play that again, please?" Judy requests.

"Sure," I nod. "It's really low in there, though."

I loop it up, and after the third time, her eyes widen. "Chain?" she guesses. "It sounds like a male person saying 'drain' or 'pain'?"

"We think it sounds like 'Jane'," Sam tells her.

Judy looks confused. "Who's Jane?"

That is Tina's turn to slide over some photocopied documents that I've managed to dig out. Mouthing out a quick 'thank you' to her, I hand them to Judy to read. "We did some research about the mansion, and I'm sure you're aware that the house was dated back in 1856. It was built by a doctor named Harley Jones, and during the Civil War, he offered the place up as a shelter for the soldiers." I flip over to another article and point out to a paragraph. "His second wife had an affair with one of the soldiers and Harley was suspected of putting him to sleep. He locked his wife up in the cellar, where she then fell into depression and committed suicide. Now, her name—"

"Jane?" Judy concludes.

"Was it a coincidence?" Sam shrugs. "Possibly, but we got a reply just when we were asking for the entity to give us a sign. We can't explain it, but it's just something we kept in mind."

"Wow," she remarks. "That's definitely interesting."

"Now this brings us back to our second investigation," Sam continues, pressing his palms together. "With that information, we tried to see if there are indeed any relations to that story and the supposed hauntings in the mansion. Right off the bat, things started happening throughout the night, and a couple of us had some very interesting experiences."

"Was it really active in there?" Judy questions, tilting her head in that uncanny way Quinn does, and it catches me off guard for a second. "Did anybody get pushed?"

There is a chorus of acknowledgments from the group, and her thin eyebrows shoot up in stunned disbelief. "Oh, wow."

"The first team that was sent in were Finn and Tina," Sam informs her, pointing them out as he speaks. "They were barely in there for ten to fifteen minutes when activity started happening. Why don't you two share your experiences during your investigation?"

Finn clears his throat, looking slightly nervous. Public speaking isn't one of his specialties, even in a small group like this, especially when there's a client involved.

"Well, Tina and I—we were in the lobby area, where the stairwell is, right?" he stutters, trying not to trip over any of his words. Judy nods encouragingly, and he takes another breath before proceeding. "And then we both saw a shadow of a person walk past the window. It was like a brisk pace, and we thought that perhaps someone was outside, so we radio for the rest but nobody was anywhere near that area at all."

"We tried recreating it, but we can't," Tina pipes up. "Unfortunately, though, we don't have any evidence to back that up, so we're just going to leave it as a mere experience."

Judy nods, seemingly engrossed in the story. "Sure, okay."

"Right after that, though, we were walking up the stairs when Finn thought he heard something," she continues. "We managed to catch that on audio, and we're going to play it for you and get your take on it."

I line the clip up, highlight the important area and turn up the volume, before playing it for her to listen. There are sounds of Finn and Tina's footsteps before the aforementioned sound is heard, followed by a call to attention.

"Did you hear that?" I ask Judy.

"I think so," she murmurs. "Can you play it once more?"

I grant her instructions, and her expression turns into curiosity, and then her face pales for a bit.

"Was that like a growl? Like a low grumbling, sort of like an animal?"

Sam nods his head in affirmation. "But obviously there weren't any wildlife that could've been in the house, and Finn was sure it wasn't his stomach."

"I think I need a drink," Judy comments, fanning herself with her hands.

Artie pulls out a bottle of water from his backpack and pass it down the row. I guess Quinn had been right about this, but we're barely even halfway through. Frankly, I have no idea if she can even take anymore without hyperventilating because it only gets crazier from here. She gratefully accepts the drink and wrenches the cap open to unceremoniously take a long swig.

"Are you okay, Miss Clark?" Rachel politely questions from the other end of the table.

"Yes, darling, I'm fine," Judy answers her with a reluctant smile. "Thank you."

"You sure about that?" Finn asks, not entirely convinced.

"Yes, I am," she assures. "It's just not something I was expecting."

"But there's more to it, too," Finn tells her, and I'm sure that's not exactly what she wants to hear right now. "It gets a little insane after this."

Looking mildly terrified now, Judy gulps down apprehensively. "Alright."

"So we walked up the stairwell towards the second landing," Tina progresses on since we have a lot of ground to cover. "And we didn't see or notice anything at the moment but when we got to analysis, we found something that was caught on our camcorder."

I summon the video into full screen and let it run. Artie had already rendered the clip in slow motion beforehand so that it would be easier to present. "Keep your eyes on this area," I notify her, circling a spot on the laptop.

"Oh, my God, is that a person?" Judy exclaims, practically jumping out of her seat.

I pause the video for Sam to further clarify it for her.

"It's not a person, per se, not literally, but it's a silhouette. The outline is clear, there's no question about it, and there's no way it could look like an animal or an object. If it's a vase, we would've ruled that out on the spot, but we're on the stairwell, and there's nothing on the steps." He traces the dark area, pointing out the distinct features. "There's the head, and then the shoulder. Now, we did entertain the possibility of it being Finn's shadow—or perhaps even Tina—but then you should be able to see his reflection in the window because he's got a flashlight with him, which we don't. It's definitely not a tree from outside either, so we've filed it under a possible apparition."

"Jesus," Judy whispers.

"The next clip that we're going to show you, we'd like your take on what happened first before we tell you anything," Tina says.

I click on the next video—the one from Finn's mini-DV—and play it for our client. The camera is zoomed in on the doorknob, and then a hand reaches out for it. We continue watching it and I take a quick glimpse at Judy to see her reaction. We didn't bleep out the swear words, but I'm sure Finn is completely embarrassed by it. Judy flinches and her hand flies up to cover her mouth.

"Did the door hit you?" She turns to Finn.

"Yeah," he nods. "It got me quite good, too. I stumbled backwards, and I sort of blanked out for a bit, but I'm just glad I didn't lose my balance and roll down the stairs."

"Now, Judy, you're aware of the weight on that door, right?" Sam asks her.

"Yes," she replies. "It's rather heavy."

"Exactly," Sam says. "So it's got to take a lot of force to make it swing like it did. Finn obviously didn't expect it. You can tell because he didn't even have time to react. His camcorder got knocked askew. Our first conclusion was that perhaps the momentum from the initial pull causes the door to open up like that, which is a possibility, but we're going to zoom in on the doorknob and you'll get to see how it all happened."

I click on the next clip that's already lined-up on the playlist and Sam runs commentary. Again, with Artie's technical knowledge, he had managed to zero-in on the appropriate spot and slowed it down.

"As you can see, he's already twisting the doorknob, but before he can pull his arm back to open it, there's a force of movement that's already pushing on the door that causes him to release his grip. Even then, the door continues to swing outwards and hit Finn in the head."

"I see that," Judy says, gaping at the screen. "I think I just had goose bumps."

We burst into polite laughter to relief the tension. I'm watching this for the thousandth time and I'm still amazed by it.

"Now all of that happened to just one team," Sam chuckles. "We still have two more groups to go through and a lot more evidence to show you."

"Oh, wow."

"Let's move on, then," Sam proposes. "The next group comprises of Mike and Rachel, so why don't you guys take Judy through your experiences?"

It's no surprise that Rachel decides to speak up even before I can think of opening my mouth, and she tucks some of her dark hair behind her ear while she composes herself to appear as professional as possible. She straightens her back and flashes her pearly whites.

"First of all, I would like to thank you for engaging us with this investigation and presenting us with this thoroughly interesting case. It's been a privilege and an absolute pleasure to work with you in a way that enables us to contribute to the council as well. South Oak Mansion is an impeccable building with an absolutely rich heritage."

I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. This is exactly why we don't take her to client meetings.

"The history that links to it is a wholesome tale on its own, but we won't get into that for now. I shall begin." Rachel gives a significant pause. "When Finn got injured, we realized that we were dealing with something that's rather aggressive in nature, and Mike and I had decided to do a little provoking during our EVP session."

I'm usually the cool and aloof dude, but even I have my limits, and I think I'm going to barf. What she said was kind of a lie. Provoking is a far cry from the tame questions that we had actually asked, and we don't want to stretch the truth for our client. I shoot her a warning glare, mentally probing for her to tone down on the drama and just tell the story the way it really had been.

"So I was encouraging for the entity to establish contact with us, or give us a sign of its presence, and Mike and I heard some shuffling. It sounded like a person dragging his or her feet, but with the acoustics in the lobby, we weren't able to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from," Rachel narrates. "Unfortunately, we weren't able to catch it on audio. However, straight after, we dared the entity to approach us, and use our devices as means of communication."

Again, bull shit. We didn't dare the spirits, we actually asked nicely. God, Sam is going to need to have a nice long chat with her about this. She can't keep going on like that.

"All of a sudden, I had a spike in my KII-meter—"

"A KII-meter is a device that measures electromagnetic fields in the area," I interrupt, since I'm pretty sure Judy hasn't a single clue what Rachel's talking about. "Basically, a lot of things could set it off—ranging from cell phone signals to radio walkie-talkies—but there are other claims that paranormal activity can also cause a jump in the readings, so although we don't necessarily take every abnormality as an instant phenomenon, we also keep in mind the smaller details that might give us a hint of any form of communication."

"Oh, okay," the older woman says, still slightly dazed.

"Right, so as I was saying," Rachel cuts back in, averting Judy's attention to her once again. "I noticed the lights blinking for a second, and so we decided maybe we're finally getting some sort of sign—"

"Let me just play the clip for you real quick," I cut the brunette off before she is able to add salt to the injury.

The video starts from when Rachel first mentioned about the anomaly in the KII-meter—taken from my point of view—all the way to the knock that we had heard right after that.

"You can see from this, Judy, that whatever it is, it's intelligent," Sam points out. "It seems to acknowledge our presence, and it's responding to our questions in the easiest way possible. Obviously, something's trying to get our attention."

"That's creepy," Judy remarks. "I mean, wow, it's—it's blowing my mind right now."

"You still okay, there?" I ask her.

"I'm overwhelmed, actually," she replies shakily, grabbing for the bottle of water. She takes two big gulps and then daintily wipes her lips with the corner of her hand. "I'm sorry, it's just, quite a lot to take in."

"Do you think you can carry on with it?" Sam carefully inquires.

"Yes, yes. What else happened in there?"

Rachel sees the opportunity and makes a dash for it. "When we heard the knock, we thought that it was coming from inside the room on the second landing, so we followed it in, but we didn't hear another knock or anything in there. We tried to recreate it in any way possible, but there are countless of things that could've made that noise. However, we decided to stay for a bit and wait it out—let the room settle on its own—and when we felt that there wasn't anything strange in there, we figured we ought to move on."

"And then we heard a thump," I add in. "I'll let you have a listen."

Switching to another software, I play the audio recording for our client.

"I heard it," Judy informs us. "Clear as day."

"So we looked around and found a ceramic figurine of an angel on the floor, assuming that it has fallen from the side table or something," I say, pulling up a screen capture from the video. "Do you know if it's meant to be there? Or if someone had dropped it earlier?"

She squints hard at the screen. "I don't remember ever seeing it, but I don't spend a lot of time in the mansion at all. The caretakers are usually the one overseeing the house keeping duties."

"Right, it's okay," I assure her. "We just feel that it's a rather interesting finding to share with you."

"We have one more experience to share with you during our investigation," Rachel declares, and I don't know where she's getting at because the next story is for me to tell. "It happened in the cellar, where Jane was believed to be locked up in. At first, it was pretty stagnant down there. We tried stirring up activity and began asking questions, but we weren't getting any responses so we decided to wrap it up."

This is where I come in, no excuses. "We were ready to leave the cellar when all of a sudden, I hear this loud yell in my ears, like a woman screaming 'no!' and right after I feel a chill run down this side of my arm," I recount, holding out my hand to show her where it is exactly. "I checked to see if maybe I had accidentally brushed against the wall but I hadn't because there's texture to the stone, and what I felt was like a cold wash over my arm."

"Oh, my God," Judy croaks. "And there isn't any draft down there either."

"Exactly," I nod. "Rachel hadn't heard the voice, but during analysis, we were able to catch something."

I queue the audio clip that Finn had identified and increase the volume a bit more because it's a really soft sound. Judy gestures for me to loop it, and I willingly oblige.

"It's kind of high-pitched, yeah?" she glances over at me for confirmation. "It sounds almost like an echo."

"Now that you mention it," Sam grins lopsidedly.

"What do you think that means?" Judy asks.

"We don't know because it wasn't a direct response to any question. It could possibly be a residual thing," Sam explains to her. "It's when a big or traumatic event occurs at a certain area that sort of leaves an imprint in the place, so it just replays itself like clockwork."

"Goodness."

I stare across the table at Sam. Now that the two teams are out of the way, we're only left with the evidence from his investigation with Quinn. He meets my eye for a split second before dropping his gaze down to the wooden surface of the meeting room table, obviously understanding the significance. A quick scan of the rest of the team confirms my suspicion that all the focus is now on our team leader, but frankly, I'm just curious. We have yet to discuss the situation involving Quinn, and on the way over, I had contemplated whether or not we should just make up some stupid fib about technical faults as a back-up plan. Sam had been relatively mum about it, and not once has he addressed the issue, so we're all anticipating his next move.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, my team leader clears his throat and begins.

"As for our third team—"

A cell phone starts ringing, the vibration against the table top startles Judy as she takes a glimpse. Her brows furrow slightly as she reads the name on the screen, and then looks apologetically at Sam before snatching up the device to answer the call.

"Hello? Quinn?"

Heads whip towards Sam just as the name is said out loud, and his head instantly drops to glance guiltily down at his lap.

"Now's not a good time, honey—wait, what?"

Judy leaps up from her chair, looking alarmed, and the phone still pressed to her ear. "I can't—where are you? Are you okay? Are you crying?"

At that, Sam snaps his head up, his eyes wide and wild, poised like he's ready to bolt if need be. I've actually never seen him like this before—frantic and careless—but this is Quinn Fabray we're talking about. She's managed to bring out the best and the worst in Sam Evans.

"I can't hear you—what? Sam?" She pauses and then pivots her head to face the dude in question. "Yeah, he's right here. Why would you—what?"

Upon hearing the lady shriek, Sam jumps to his feet.

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

Apparently, that's all he needs to hear because he's out of that door faster than a speeding bullet train.

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><p><strong>AN:** So, this is chapter 17. It's not much, but I guess I sort of had to do it, even though I have to admit it's quite a dull update. Either way, hope you guys liked it.

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! I want to give Sam a big hug too! Poor guy! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

**Quam314159:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my chapter! It's always appreciated! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Hehe! I had to sit in front of my computer at work for half an hour and constantly refresh the page to grab the tickets!

**Mandorac:** Hi! I was so excited to see that you've reviewed! Thank you so much for reading and leaving wonderful and encouraging comments! I know the Fabrevans interaction in the last chapter wasn't wow-worthy, and there's absolutely none of it in this update, but I hope you like it either way :D I was having so much fun writing the bit about Puck, and I'm sure to enjoy the future scenes with him in them. I'm glad that you liked the scene with the crew. It was a bit jumbled in my head and I had to try and sort them out properly before I start writing. I guess you have your answer now that Quinn didn't show up for the reveal, but what happened to her? Hope you liked it!

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Yeah, I remembered when he yelled at Quinn in season one, and he WAS scary! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Fabrevans interaction as well as Santana's POV! Hope you've enjoyed this update as well!

**fanFabrevans:** Hi! It's always nice to see new readers leave good reviews! Thank you so much for reading my story—all in one afternoon too! I'm very flattered!

**DeGleesi:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I know I say that a lot, but I really do appreciate it! I'm glad that you liked the Fabrevans scene in the library! I really enjoyed writing that bit, and I can't wait to start writing the part where they do indeed resume with their romance! It's a decision on my own to write Rachel as such because, yes, I agree with you that every story needs a person like her, and she's entertaining on her own. Well, Santana going on investigations would be an awesome thing! I'll have a think about it :D

**IShipFabrevans:** Ouch, that stings a bit. I think I'm gonna go nurse my slightly bruised ego for a while. I truthfully didn't know you felt so strongly for Rachel, and it's not my intention at all to degrade her as such, or portray her in a bad light. I've been reading and re-reading my past two chapters, wondering where my mistake was, but I realized that I've written her character in another person's point of view, and everybody has their own biased thoughts about her. Either way, I've re-proofed this chapter. Hopefully it doesn't offend you in any way. Thank you for reading and reviewing though. I appreciate your comments. Glad you liked the rest of the stuff with Santana and Puck. :)


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **Hey! Alright! So hiatus lifted and here's an update. I've removed the Author's Note page because it's disrupting the flow a bit—and it's not something I want to remember—and did this up! Let's start afresh now and leave behind the shit that's been happening recently. It's not a long update, but it's a crucial part in Sam and Quinn's journey.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

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><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 18**

**Thursday, 9.10pm**

**/Sam Evans**

I'm not thinking, I'm just driving, and I'm praying to God that I know where the fuck I'm going because I'm running on pure instinct and adrenaline now. Flooring the accelerator, I beat the red light and disregard the offence, narrowly missing a black pick-up and ignoring the horns blaring in my direction as I swerve in and out of traffic.

All I know is that she's in danger, and I need to get to her.

I just hope I'm not too late.

What the fuck is she doing in there anyway?

Is she a masochist? A fucking sadist, perhaps?

Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I feel the temporary numbness as the blood stops circulating to my fingers, but I'm too bothered to give a damn about it. Glaring ahead at the cars in front of me, I curse them all for the unnecessary delay. My sole purpose right now is to ensure that she's safe and sound. Taking the next exit, I speed down towards the long stretch of familiar road, and moments later I come upon the big gates to South Oak Mansion.

I check for any indication that she's here right now, scanning the rows of windows for any lights that might be turned on, but everything's dark and still. And then I notice a foreign car, parked at a far corner—hidden as though it doesn't want to be discovered—and it's like something kicks start in my head. I haphazardly parked the car, and without even bothering to shut the engine, I hop out of the vehicle and barge into the huge-ass house.

"Quinn?" I call out, until I realize that I don't have a flashlight with me. "Damnit!"

I squint my eyes to make out the various shapes of objects in the lobby, trying to identify the stairwell. "Quinn! Where are you? Quinn!"

All of a sudden, I hear something, like a quiet voice, muffled in the night, but knowing the history of the place, and already establishing the fact that it's haunted, I'm not too sure what to think of it. The moonlight streams in from the open windows, and I use it to mark my position.

And then I hear it again.

A voice, soft by strong, and it's coming from inside the second-floor room. Or I think it is, but I'll take my chances. "Quinn! Quinn, where are you?" I yell out again, my voice booming throughout the mansion, and I'm sure if she's in here somewhere, she can hear me. "Are you in here? Quinn!"

If she's not in here, then someone's seriously trespassing. Either way, I need to get to the bottom of this. My hands are blindly grasping for objects in front of me, searching for the handrail. I feel the cool wooden surface and I know I've reached the stairs. I'm climbing up two steps at a time, and I'm cursing the darkness for hindering my progress because it's causing me to trip over and stumble.

"Quinn? Quinn!"

This time I know I'm not imagining it.

It sounds urgent and desperate—yet weak and helpless—and there's no doubt it's Quinn.

Oh, God.

Something just snaps inside of me. Rushing up the rest of the way to the second-floor landing, I grab onto the doorknob and throw the door wide open. The room itself is darker than the rest of the house, but in a corner, I can hear the quiet sobbing of a girl and in the shadows I find a figure, curled up in a ball.

Shit.

"Quinn?"

She glances up, and her beautiful hazel eyes glisten with tears. "Sam," she whispers, and that's all it takes for me. Crossing the room in five hurried strides, I kneel down in front of her cowering form and cradle her delicate face in my hands. She looks terrified—traumatized even—shaking like a leaf, and it's like the life had been sucked right out of her. An eerie shiver runs down my spine, giving me the ultimate creeps, and I wonder if it's just me.

"Sam."

"Are you okay?" I softly ask her. "What are you doing here?"

"It's terrible, it's all terrible. How he did it, and how she's screaming and begging him to stop, and he still did it in front of her when she's with a child. He didn't care, and he kept—"

She's rambling, and she's so shaken up but she needs to calm down before she ends up hyperventilating.

"Quinn, Quinn," I interrupt, holding her firmly so that she's staring into my eyes, instantly regretting it when all I can see is a hollow shell of her former self reflecting in her golden orbs. "You're not making any sense. What are you talking about?"

"Jane. Harley. Tom."

What the hell?

"Tom?" I ask, utterly clueless. "I don't know what you're trying to tell me, Quinn, but we got to get out of here now."

"No!" she blurts out, clutching onto my arm, her nails sinking into my skin, and I'm grimacing in pain. Damn, she has some sharp claws. "We can't leave."

"What? Why not?"

She's perspiring; beads of sweat causing her blonde hair to stick across her forehead. "We can't leave her here."

"Leave whom here?" I ask, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Jane and her baby."

"Quinn, we've got to go," I tell her, gently but with enough assertion to let her know that I'm serious. "We can't be here."

The door slams shut with a loud bang, and I jump back, effectively releasing my hold on her. Holy, shit. I feel a cold spot on my shoulder, and then it's like someone's ripping on my flesh and I'm momentarily thrown off my feet. Groaning from the impact of landing on my butt, my head's reeling from the experience. Fuck, that was intense.

"Don't hurt him," Quinn croaks out. "Just leave him alone."

I scramble to her side and wrap a protective arm around her trembling form. My mouth is dry and I'm still breathless from the ordeal, but I keep telling myself that I need to be strong for her. Whatever is going on, I can't afford to wane off.

"I'm fine," I murmur into her ear. "But we've got to get out of here now, Quinn. It's not safe for either one of us."

"No! We can't!"

"Quinn, please," I plead, gripping onto her clammy hands. I spy her cellphone on the floor and quickly pocket it in my pants. "We need to go now."

She holds my gaze for a while longer, as though she's trying to tell me something but it's impossible to read her expression in pitch-black. Quinn realizes it, and she gives my hands a squeeze before I take note of the fresh set of tears gathering in her eyes.

Fuck, no.

"Quinn, please don't," I groan. "Don't cry, please."

"Take me home," she pleads. "I want to go."

"Alright," I nod. "We'll go."

"I can't move," she tells me, whimpering and on the verge of bursting out into another round of sobs. "Sam, I can't move. I'm numb."

"Alright, it's okay," I assure her in my calmest tone. Stooping down, I slide my arms underneath the crook of her knees and support her back with the other. "Hold on to me," I say. Quinn loops her arms around my neck and I effortlessly lift her off the floor. "You okay?"

She nods her head wordlessly, and I glance around to find the exit. "Where's the door?"

"Just go straight," she mumbles and digs her nose into my chest.

With a bit of difficulty, I twist on the knob, and looking down at the flight of stairs, I swallow hard, mentally reminding myself not to trip or drop the girl. As though sensing my inner turmoil, she shifts her weight so that she's straddling my waist instead. It's a lot easier now, I can see what's beneath my feet, and as I circle my hands to accommodate to her position, I give her rattled form an easy hug. My legs are wobbly, but I make the journey without any problems. Practically running towards my car, I open the door to the passenger's side and gently place her into the seat. Automatically, she curls herself back into a fetal position, and it breaks my heart a little.

Before I can stop myself, I lean forward and drop a kiss to the crown of her blonde head. "You'll be fine."

She peeks up at me through her long lashes and manages a small smile in return. I close the door and round the vehicle to the driver's side. As soon as I'm inside, clutching onto the steering wheel, I feel the weight of her hand resting on my thigh and I turn to see that she's fast asleep. I suppose tonight had really taken a toll out of her, and I take a deep breath to stabilize myself. The exhaustion is slowly creeping into my body but it's the mental stress that's really eating up my energy. Puffing my cheeks out, I slowly exhale.

When I'm sure that I'm fine enough to drive, I put the car into gear and head back to campus. I'm contemplating if I should bring her back to my dorm room, but then I reckon it's only responsible to properly send her home. Besides, I'm sure Savannah—or Santana, was it? —would be there to make sure Quinn's okay. I'd probably have to return tomorrow morning with one of the guys to pick her car up. Throughout the entire route, I'm replaying the events that had just taken place in the mansion.

Everything feels surreal. I can't believe it. The reality of the situation hasn't full sunk in yet, and it's making me shit in my pants. It's not so much the paranormal stuff that's scaring the living fuck out of me, but more so the other recesses that I've never crossed before. We're talking about the unexplained and the unchartered territory that's beyond the paranormal. If there wasn't a clear implication of that before, there surely is one right now, and I'm currently at a loss on how to go about handling it.

Taking one hand off the wheel, I run my fingers through my hair—in need of some serious trimming—and then interlink them with Quinn's. Her skin feels soft under my touch, uncharacteristically warm as she stirs a bit at the contact. I'm worried that I might have woken her up, but she shifts a little and continues in her slumber.

I'm almost regretful when I pull up at her apartment building. Our fingers are still tangled somehow, and very slowly, I pry my hands away. I get out of the car and go over to the other side so that I can carry her out. She mumbles something incoherent but easily fits right into my arms, molding herself to my cradle. After ensuring that the vehicle is locked, I bring her up to her apartment. Seeing that my hands are full, I decide to use my foot to kick the door. The noise startles Quinn and she whimpers in my embrace.

The door flings open and I'm greeted by Santana's pissed-off face. One look at Quinn, and her expression switches to protective best friend mode.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" she demands, planting her fists on her hips.

"Just let me in and tell me where to put her," I say, glaring back just as hard.

Rolling her eyes, she moves aside. "Down the hall, to the right."

I'm already heading towards it before she can finish that sentence. I know she's stalking me from behind, but an annoying roommate is the least of my problems at the moment. Nudging the door open with my toe, I shuffle into the room and gently set her down on the neatly-made bed. And then I feel the tug on my shirt, and I'm being pulled out into the living room.

"You have ten seconds to tell me what's going on or I'll fucking rip your testicles out and feed them to the dogs," Santana spits out, and God, that's intimidating. She's like an evil Diablo or something.

I rub the nape of my neck to release some tension. "Well, Quinn, I'm not sure if she told you, but she's…special—"

"You can skip that bit of trivia, Trouty; I know that she's an Empath, or whatever you call her," she snaps, snarling menacingly. "Get to the important part."

I'm really not sure how to explain it to her because I'm trying to figure this out for myself. "I think she went on an investigation on her own. We were holding a reveal for Judy when all of a sudden Quinn called, and then I found her at one of our case sites."

"No, wait, that can't be right," Santana interjected. "She told me that she left something in school and was going back to get it."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "I don't know anything about that," I tell her honestly. "But I really did find her at South Oak Mansion."

"South Oak what?" she asks, and then waves it off. "Never mind, whatever. What was she doing there?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know."

"Damn it!"

"Look, I have to get going, alright," I tell her. "I need to go check on my team. I came here just to drop her off." Reaching into my pocket, I fish out Quinn's cellphone. "Give this to her for me."

Santana takes it without any further remarks. She just watches me with that judgmental look that all girls are born with as I walk towards the door.

"Hey, thanks, Sam," she says just as I'm about to make my way down the corridor towards the lift lobby. "For helping with Quinn."

"You're welcome."

She leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest. "I still think you're an asshole for what you did to her, you know."

Of course she would know about that too. They're best friends.

"I want to make it up to her."

She smirks at me. "I don't give a fuck."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Cheers to everybody who's been with me, by my side with wonderful comments and encouragements! I appreciate it so much! Unfortunately, due to such circumstances, anonymous reviews have been disabled, so I apologize in advance for that. Also, certain reviews have been deleted, because like I've said before, I want to forget that entire ordeal actually happened and move on.

**Mandorac:** My rock through it all! First of all, this update is specially dedicated to you and your constant encouragement! Thank you so much for being there for me, reading and reviewing, and offering helpful comments along the way. Hopefully with this update, we can all erase the bitterness of the past and move on with the story and our love for Fabrevans. I'm glad you liked the cliffhanger in chapter 17! Of course this chapter will raise more questions than answers, but at least now, we get some things rolling! Thank you so much for your review in my Author's Note page too! It feels really nice to have people understand the situation and know that they support me and my stories. If I haven't said it enough, I'm going to keep saying it: you've been a BIG help!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I appreciate your wonderful comments! I didn't mean to torture you with the cliffhangers. It just goes with the story :P I think this update is going to raise more questions with Quinn rather than answering it for you. LOL! I think Judy is hyperventilating inside, but she sort of needs to maintain some kind of composure. I would freak out and run out of the office for sure! I'd resign immediately and get someone to take over the project! LOL! Thank you so much for the moral support in my Author's Note! It means a lot to me! As you can see, I'm not quitting this story. It's my baby! I hope you've enjoyed this update as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

**Quam314159:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate your support!

**RJRRAA:** First of all, thank you so much for constantly reading and reviewing my stories! I truly appreciate it and I'm really grateful for your support and encouragements! To answer your question: they're not at South Oak Mansion. The reveal is in her office in the town council, which means that you probably know by now where Quinn was :D I was excited to write this because it's solely a Fabrevans interaction chapter—aside for the small Santana bit—and isn't it romantic that he went to rescue her? LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this comeback chapter!

**Alli2345:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad Judy made your day! LOL!

**VoteFabray4PromQueen:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and the wonderful comments! I hope this chapter answers your questions and explains certain things for you. You got everything right in chapter 17. That's exactly what happens, so Sam has a hunch about where Quinn might be, so he goes and finds her :D What a knight in shining armor! Thank you so much for your encouragements and support in reviewing my Author's Note. Hopefully, that would be the last of it and we can all peacefully move on and continue our love for Fabrevans. To reinstate your assumptions, yes, there is a storyline regarding Rachel in the future which might explain certain things. :D Hope you've enjoyed this comeback chapter!

**Gogolax:** Thank you for reading and reviewing in chapter 17!

**GleekFreak13:** Thank you so much for your review and support in my Author's Note! I really appreciate it! Hopefully that's all in the past and we can now peacefully move on with the story! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Pissed at Reviews:** At the risk of sounding biased about anonymous reviews, I would like to thank you for reading and reviewing! Your encouragement is really appreciated and I'm grateful for it! Thank you so much for the lovely comments too! I'm glad that you like how I write my characters and my fanfic :D Hopefully you'll log in and review, though. I would really like to hear your opinion on the story!

**FabrevansOTP:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like my story!

**Rachelxbabbyy:** Hi there! Thank you so much for your lovely comments and your encouragements! I'm glad to know that you're enjoying the story! I'm definitely not quitting this story, but it's good to know that you understand why I had to put the story on hiatus. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**PatrickJ87:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate your comments and encouragements! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**ReadingFanfiction13:** Hi there! No need to apologize for anything. I'm sorry to have to put the story on hiatus, but I'm back now! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and the encouragements! I hope you'll like this chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Hi guys! So, I just realized a small blooper. When I deleted my Author's Note and replaced it with Chapter 18, somehow or another, it doesn't like, reset the review count on the update, so I've got people who are unable to review. However, I've received PMs alerting me of this, so I'd like to thank those wonderful people for reviewing anyways :D LOL!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 19**

**Thursday, 10.40pm**

**/Finn Hudson**

I try to make myself look busy as I blindly tap away on my keyboard, but occasionally my eyes would wander over to the door. All this waiting is making me impatient, and I glance at the clock on the wall to check on the time.

Damn, what's taking him so long?

Sam's been gone for a while now. Judy had been pretty worried about her daughter earlier on after she had received the call, and when Sam had went off in search of Quinn, we were left to repeatedly assure and reassure her that her daughter would be fine. After realizing that it was useless to continue with our main purpose of the visit, we wrapped up our reveal with Judy and held back the rest of the evidence for another time, before returning to the headquarters. I suppose it's sort of like a blessing in disguise, I mean, I can't imagine how Sam was going to break it to Judy about Quinn joining the team, but then again, I would reckon she's more confused as to how they actually know one another.

Still, a part of me is a little agitated, because I could've gone after Quinn too. I know I'm not the leader in the group, but I'm pretty damn sure that I would have rescued her just fine and she'd finally see me for that awesome person that I am. She would realize that I was her knight in shining armor all along and fall deeply in love with me.

Right.

A phone beeps, breaking the silence in the room. It's happening more often now, the quiet tension that for some reason keeps hovering over the group. I want so much to blame this on Rachel, and tell her to cut Quinn some slack because none of this is her fault, but even I'm not that dumb. Clearly, this entire mess started the moment Quinn got involved in Project Paranormal, and her not telling the truth about herself—or the fact that Judy Clark's her mother—I suppose that's not fair to us either. Now that I think about it, I guess Rachel is the only one brave enough to fight for what she feels is right. She just doesn't know the best way to express it.

People always think I'm big and dumb, but there's so much more to me than my good looks and muscular built.

"Sam says he's on the way over," Mike announces.

I snort softly to myself, but Artie picks it up and tilts his head questioningly at me. Immediately, I duck my head behind my monitor to try and hide the fact that Sam's totally cramping my style. Despite everything that has happened with Quinn, I still think that we have an amazing connection together. She has this undeniable beauty in her that constantly takes my breath away and her smile just lights up the whole world. Damn it, I know I sound like one of those chick movies, but it's true. She's just the perfect girl for me, and as selfish as it sounds, I'm totally blaming Rachel if Quinn isn't coming back.

"Do you think she's okay?" Tina speaks up out of the blue.

"Quinn?" Mike asks her with raised eyebrows.

She nods her head in reply. "Yeah. Do you suppose something bad happened to her? I mean, Judy sounded pretty urgent and Sam just tore out of there. It has to be serious, right?"

"Tina, the possibilities are endless here," Artie tells her in that partially sarcastic way of his, but there's an underlying tone of concern. Maybe it's an Empath thing. I wonder if he can read her mind or see things through her eyes like one of those cool sci-fi TV shows. "Let's not overreact."

"Don't you guys have that special ability and know what the other is thinking?" I question.

He just stares blankly back at me. "We're not telepathic, Finn."

"But you can read each others' emotions, can't you?" Tina prods.

Artie shrugs, because really, this is probably the first time we're discussing the extents of his abilities since we all try not to acknowledge it as much as possible. As an investigator, there's no room for 'feelings' or 'hunches'—I got that from a Nancy Drew book—and the only stuff that we can truly rely on are hard evidences. Whatever Artie 'feels' or 'experiences' can't be documented or proven, so we eliminate it altogether and we don't ever bring it up.

Until now.

"Not of each other," Artie tells us, wheeling over so that he's in the middle of the room. "We close off our emotions and block them out. She can't read me either. We're just too busy trying to block other people; we don't really have the time to think of our own."

"That's terrible," Tina remarks. "Can't you, like, switch it off?"

"It's not that easy," he continues. "We can try and ignore them, but we can't just choose _not_ to feels people's emotions. It doesn't work that way."

All of a sudden, I feel kind of bad for Artie. He's been through all his life with something he has no power over or control of, and it's not like he wants to be nosy and stick his business in people's heads. I just can't imagine how it feels like to be at a location and have to deal with all the weirdness on top of the paranormal. I think I just have a whole new level of respect for the dude.

Maybe he can give me a couple of tips that might help me out with Quinn.

"How do you do it?"

He turns to face me, a small smirk on his lips. "I pretend it's not there."

"Really?"

Sam walks into the room just then, halting all forms of conversation. I do a double take and then blink my eyes a couple of times, but all I can think of is how utterly fucked-up he looks. It's like he just came out of war or had just flown back from Afghanistan. He's gnawing on his bottom lip, his eyes trained on the floor as he comes to a stop directly behind Artie.

"Hi, guys."

Wow, he sounds absolutely fagged, and I can't help but feel sorry for the blonde Beiber. He's got quite a rough day.

"Hey, Sam. How's Quinn?" I ask as I jump to my feet, hoping that I don't sound too interrogating.

Pulling the nearest swivel chair towards him, Sam slumps down on it and heaves a sigh. I suppose she's the last thing he wants to discuss right now, but I'm just trying to be a concerned friend.

"Found her in South Oak Mansion."

There's a collective round of gasps around the room, and my jaw drops open in shock. I'm almost positive I heard him say 'South Oak Mansion'. He did, didn't he? Fuck, what was the girl thinking going there all alone? Isn't that like, Empath suicide or something?

"The fuck?" Mike exclaims. "Why the hell would she do that?"

Sam rubs between his eyebrows, and I can't remember the last time I've seen him this stressed out. He's usually so collected in such situations, and he always seems to know just the right thing to do. Seeing him right now, coming undone in front of his team, it's pretty nerve wrecking for me. I really wonder what's going on in his head right now.

"I don't know."

"Did you ask her?" I restlessly prod on.

"I did, but she was too shaken up to say anything," he tells us.

"Shaken up?" Tina cuts in. "What happened?"

"She was telling me some stuff about Jane and Harley, but nothing makes sense," he explains. "She kept saying how it's all terrible and that we couldn't just leave Jane there, and it's all just crazy to me, but she was so terrified, and it's like she became this entirely other person."

We're stunned speechless, because, really, how does one respond to that? I've never been through this shit; it's all pretty new to me, but damn, that's got to be fucking scary. Right now, I'm just thankful that I'm not Sam or Quinn. Either way, I still think I would have done the job and be the hero. Perhaps I would stay with her throughout the night and make sure she's okay, you know? Sam is just stupid.

I'm still thinking of what to say to dispel the awkward silence when all of a sudden Sam snaps his head up to look at Mike, his eyes growing huge and alert.

"Tom!" he declares. Mike just tilts his head in confusion. "Mike, while you were going through the past records, did you happen to come across anybody named 'Tom'?"

"I'm not sure, dude," the Asian guy cautiously replies. "I might have, but I need to have another look at the documents. Why are you asking?"

"Quinn mentioned something about him earlier on, so I'm just guessing maybe he's got something to do with our case," Sam informs the group.

"Could he be the soldier that Jane had an affair with?" I speculate.

"Maybe, but—"

"Excuse me," Rachel interrupts, and it's like we realize just then that she's actually in the room with us. Throughout the entire journey back to the campus, she had been rather quiet, but I suppose the dam has to break some time. "I thought we've closed the case. What else is there to establish? We're not detectives."

True that.

But still…

"Our cases are never ever closed, Rachel," I remind her, pointing out the obvious. "We just don't solve them because we can't."

"My point, exactly," she retorts, properly enunciating each word for full effect as she plants one hand on her hip in an exasperated manner. "We've done all we can for our client, so what else is there to this? Our work here is done."

"But Quinn thinks—"

"I don't care what Quinn thinks," she snaps back, finally losing her patience. "We only work with hard evidences. When in doubt, throw it out. What makes you think we can trust Quinn when we won't even believe Artie's abilities?"

She did not just go there.

The pregnant pause that follows is deafening, and I'm sure I can hear Tina breathing from the other corner of the room, but all eyes are fixed on Sam—even Artie's—as we tentatively wait for the expected blow-up. Of all the many rules and regulations that had been put in place of being in the group, the one thing Sam does not tolerate is discrimination. He had made that crystal clear the day we knew about Artie's empathic state.

Fortunately for Rachel, she immediately picks up on her blatant mistake and quickly apologizes. "I'm sorry. That was totally out of line, and I shouldn't have said that," she says, guiltily lowering her head.

"That's cool," Artie assures her because he's just that awesome. "Don't worry about it."

"Looks, Rachel, I know what you're thinking," Sam attempts to calmly explain to her. "And you're absolutely right. I've always emphasized on concrete proofs, and as investigators, we can't afford to rely on instinct. However, we're just exploring the possibilities here. If there are chances for us to provide more answers for our client, I am willing to be flexible enough to try. There's certainly no harm in that."

Rachel doesn't seem too pleased to say the least, but I reckon she's not going to argue with him, which thankfully she doesn't. She opens her mouth at first to protest, but thinks better of it, and instead just obediently nods her head again and sits down without a peep.

"You really don't have to believe Quinn, you know," Artie murmurs with a faraway look in his eyes. "She may be an Empath like me, but she doesn't expect you to trust her."

Okay, back up now, what?

"Why'd you say that?"

So sue me, I'm just full of question marks. My head's about ready to explode with all this new information with Quinn, and fuck it, I just want to curl up in my bed and sleep.

"Because I don't expect you to trust us either."

Damn, I love the dude, but he's got to stop talking in riddles with deep shit like that.

"Are you using reverse psychology on us?" Mike quirks an eyebrow.

Oh, yeah, sure. Add more big words, would you?

"Let me put it this way for you," Artie says. "We don't even trust our _own_ feelings, so most of the time we just keep them to ourselves."

Mind fuck. Seriously.

"She sees things," Sam mumbles, but it's still audible to everybody in the room. "She's not like you, Arts."

Artie angles his wheelchair so that he's now directly facing our team leader. "What do you mean?"

He doesn't answer right away, and he's staring off into space with this contemplating look, and everybody's on the edge of our seats right now. I just want to get this over with. It's wrinkling my brain, and I have a heavy first class tomorrow that I'm dreading.

"I think she sees stuff," he eventually reveals. "She talks and communicates with God-knows-who and it's just an out-of-the-body experience. It's like she can see something that I can't."

Scrunching his forehead, Artie clarifies, "she's communicating?"

"I noticed it during our investigation but I didn't think anything of it. And then she told me that she was an Empath, and I thought that was it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess in the midst of all the commotion, it must've slipped my mind."

"That would explain so much more."

The rest of us are watching this back-and-forth between the two, and I'm trying to keep track of the conversation but it's as dizzy as a tennis match. What the hell, I'm still fucking clueless. They're going on about something while I'm just sitting here trying to gauge everyone else's reactions, but it's just a mess.

"Sam, interacting with entities—or spirits or whatever—is not normal. She's not an Empath."

"What are you talking about?"

Again with the dramatic pause.

"Quinn is more than that," Artie tells him. "I think she's a Psychic Medium."

Holy. Shit.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** There you go! I hope that answers certain things for Quinn; and it gives a certain insight to the dynamics of the group. It's the first time we see the team addressing Artie's abilities and hopefully it won't be the last :P

**FabrevansOTP:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my update, and leaving wonderful comments! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Even though this chapter has no Sam/Quinn interactions, I hope you still enjoyed it nonetheless :D

**Fabrevansgleek:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hello there! LOL! I have taken to not writing this story at night because I tend to freak myself out too. I'd hear my cats in the kitchen and I'd jump out of my seat like an idiot, so lesson learnt! Haha! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing with lovely comments! I truly appreciate it :D I'm glad you think that way about the characters, and Santana is always a pleasure to write because she gives for so much room for witty dialogue and smart comebacks. Truthfully, I'm unraveling this as I go as well, so I'm as much part of the journey as you are!

**RJRRAA:** Don't think for a second that I forgot about you! LOL! I've read your review on THA, so I'm going to reply you here first, and then do another one for you when I update that story. First and foremost, thank you for reading the update, and even though you were unable to review the previous chapter, you've found other means to do so! I really appreciate it!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Well, I've definitely received your PM, and while I didn't reply to you on your review, I will do that here and now :D LOL! First of all, thank you so much for reading my stories and for PM-ing me with the reviewing issue! It's always a pleasure to write, and I really couldn't run away from this story even if I tried. Haha! I'm glad you like the small twists in the story, and the patience to actually tolerate the new questions! I love writing Gentleman-Sam, especially when he's dueling with his own emotions at the same time. I'm glad you liked Santana! She's the most fun character to write because she opens up so many possibilities in terms of dialogue and scenes. As for Tom, I guess you'll just have to wait and find out ;P

**DeGleesi:** Well, hello! Okay, so I didn't reply to your PM because I'm going to do it here! It is, after all, still a review, so ta-da! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my chapter! I was a little nervous and excited when I put chapter 18, so I'm really glad that you liked it! I suppose everybody is wondering why Quinn went into the mansion in the first place—including me, haha!—but do not worry, it will definitely be addressed in the future! Sam is just the perfect gentleman, isn't he? I want one of him for myself! LOL! The whole thing with South Oak Mansion is getting out of hand; it's like Paranormal Activity! Haha! I was wondering if I should write that bit about Sam being attacked, and I was 50/50 about it, but then I was like 'oh, what the heck'. Every Santana scene had been a pleasure to write because she's such a fun character to bounce off of! Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **The big 20! To be honest, I didn't think I'd reach this far, but I'd like to thank my readers for the constant encouragements and kind words! They have never failed to motivate me!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 20**

**Friday, 1.25am**

**/Sam Evans**

My eyelids are starting to droop, and I'm well aware that I have an early morning class tomorrow, but I can't bring myself to look away from the glaring computer screen. I fear my insomnia's going to come back because of this, but I just need to know more. The Internet might not be the best source of information, and although I'm fully aware of how utterly unreliable Wikipedia is, I think I'll settle for what I've got at the moment.

The team is going to have a field day if they know what a crappy example I am right now.

Artie's words are still echoing in my ears, swimming around in the inner depths of my mind, and I'm torn between curiosity and skepticism. Coming to terms and believing that Quinn is an Empath is one thing; but discovering that she might be a psychic medium is a whole different level altogether. For instance, I believe it leaves her more open and vulnerable to everything paranormal, especially if she doesn't know what she's doing. I'm reading all this in front of me; how it's actually referred to as 'Psychometry', and it's making my head spin.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, massaging the strain out of my eyes as I let out the umpteenth sigh that evening. Leaning back in my chair, I groan at the racket that's happening outside in the living room. I take a quick glimpse at the clock on my monitor.

What the fuck?

Don't these two have classes later on? Why are they still up singing along to the soundtrack of The Rocky Horror Show? Some people are trying to sleep—or rather some people just want some peace and quiet at such a God-forsaken hour of the night. I'm amazed nobody's complaining about Blaine and Kurt's caterwauling—even though I have to begrudgingly admit that they are wonderful singers—and then I remember the raging party that's still blaring on three floors down. Maybe I really should invest in one of those noise-canceling headphones that Mike's been raving on about. Forget about my sleeping disorder; if this carries on, I might just have to camp out in my car or hike over to Mike and Puck's place, and crash on their couch. Who knows; I might even get lucky and hog Noah's bed because he's hardly even there to begin with.

I make another attempt to concentrate on my reading, but the combination of tiny point-sized fonts and the ruckus around me, is making my head pound all over again. Fed up, I slam my laptop shut and decide I've had it. Dragging my feet out of the room, I'm not even surprised when I see two fully-grown adults dancing about animatedly in front of the television while I completely ignore them and head for the tiny kitchen.

"Don't you two need to sleep?" I ask groggily as I fill up a glass with tap water and pull out some aspirin from the drawers.

"Can't," Kurt yells over the music. "There's a musical marathon later tonight at the drama center, and Blaine and I are leading the dance numbers."

Do I want to know why?

"We need to nail the choreography, and we can't rest until we remember all of them by heart," Blaine adds, offering his explanation in the midst of some spastic movements.

Tossing back the pills, I gulp it down with the water and start to pad back into my bedroom to escape all the craziness. And then I'm starting to wonder if I need my sleeping medication as well because it doesn't seem like their dance fiesta is going to end any time soon.

"Why are you still up, Sam?" Kurt asks, his eyes still peeled onto the screen.

"Do you have to ask?" I deadpan.

"We're really sorry about the noise," Blaine says apologetically. "We'll try to keep it down."

"Yeah, you do that."

As soon as I close the door, my cellphone starts ringing on my desk. I pause for a second, unsure if I should answer it because a call at an hour like this can only mean bad news, and I don't want to deal with anymore of those. Regardless, the unfamiliar blinking numbers on the device intrigues me enough to answer the call.

"Hello?"

"Sam!"

My forehead creases in confusion. "Who is this, and why are you calling me at two in the morning?"

"Damnit, Guppy Face!"

The Satan. Great.

"Santana?" I approach cautiously even though I already know that I've awakened the tigress.

"Yes, it's me, you dipshit!" she snaps back, pissed off like a woman on a PMS rampage.

I plop myself down on my bed, in disregard to the strewn of dirty laundry piling up on my mattress. "Why are you insulting me, and how the heck did you get my number?"

"Got it from Puck, who got it from your best friend, Mike," she tersely replies.

"Puckerman? How did you—"

"That's not the point, Salamander."

Oh, God, what's with the names? Honestly?

"Look, you're intruding on my sleep; so if there's nothing else, I would like to go back to it and —"

"It's Quinn," she blurts out, and I hear the panic in her voice—a foreign tone that I've never heard before. "Something's not right. She's burning up and she's saying stuff that doesn't make sense. You've got to come over."

I spring upright to a sitting position, my eyes wide and alert, and the exhaustion forgotten. I have no idea what she'd just said, and all I heard was 'Quinn'. It's like nothing else matters after that. "Hang on, slow down. What's wrong with Quinn?"

"I don't know," Santana tells me. "She's cooped up under the fucking blanket and she won't come out. She says she's cold, but she feels like a fucking fireball. I don't want her to fucking suffocate under that son of a bitch, but I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do. Get your ass over here!"

I'm already reaching out for my jeans, and I'm cradling my phone on my shoulder and putting my pants on as I continue speaking to the Latina. "Alright, alright. Calm down, I'll be there as fast as possible."

"Fly if you have to," she barks before promptly hanging up the call.

Snatching my car keys off from the table, I grab a stray shirt that's hanging from the back of the chair, tuck my phone into my pocket and trudge out of the place. Kurt notices my exit from the corner of his eye, and pauses in his dance routine.

"Where are you going?" he asks as I stop to slip on my clothing.

"Out."

He glances at me like I'm insane. "At two in the morning?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

That gets me stumped, and I have one hand poised on the doorknob, just itching to get out of there, but he's just throwing me off with all these questions.

"Let him go, Kurt," Blaine swoops in to save me, grinning knowingly like he's holding the world's greatest secret. "It's about a girl."

Kurt turns to him and they exchange looks, and I'm standing there debating whether or not I should just leave already. "Yeah, that. So I should—"

"Get out of here, Sam," Kurt says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Be the prince to your damsel in distress."

Okay.

"Bye!"

And then I'm running down the corridor, jumping down the flights of stairs instead of waiting for the dreadful elevators, and all of a sudden I feel the adrenaline kicking in. It's like re-living three hours ago all over again as I climb into my car and speed all the way to Westville Avenue. Only then, while I'm driving down the empty roads, does it dawn on me that I shouldn't have left her. Quinn was probably already running a temperature when I had sent her back to the apartment, but I hadn't thought anything of it.

Damn it, why am I so stupid?

I should've brought it to attention, and in the least, I should've told her roommate about it. I'm just trying not to freak out now as I imagine the possibilities because I'm probably never going to forgive myself if something terrible happens to her.

I think I just ran a red light.

Fuck that.

I don't even bother parking the car right before I tear off into the building. Urgently, I jab onto the buttons in the lift, muttering profanities under my breath, as I will for it to go faster. When it finally—rather painfully—stops at the appointed storey, I waste no time skidding to a halt in a familiar hallway. Raising my fist, I begin knocking politely, being sure to keep the volume to a minimum so as not to cause any disturbance in the premise.

"What took you so long?" Santana demands the instant she throws open door, to which I respond with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Whatever, I'm not here for you." Without waiting for an invitation, I shove past her and march straight to Quinn's bedroom. "Quinn?"

Santana hadn't been exaggerating at all. There's a small lump in the middle of a pile of blankets, and if it weren't for the blonde strands of hair sticking out from a corner, I wouldn't have figured that somebody is underneath it. I lower myself down gingerly so that I won't startle her, and in such proximity I can feel her petite form trembling through the layers.

"Quinn?" I softly murmur. "Quinn, can you wake up, please?"

She doesn't reply me in any way, and I turn around to see Santana leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her torso as she watches my every move. "How long has she been out?"

"Since you brought her back, I suppose."

"Has she gotten anything to eat?" I ask again.

Santana shakes her head, her wavy jet-black hair swooshing from side to side. "I don't think so. In fact, I was coming to get her for some supper when I found her in this state." She pushes herself off the wall and moves to stand at the foot of the bed, the worry etched in her otherwise flawless features. "I tried waking her up—shaking her and what not—but she wasn't responding much. I figured something was wrong when I felt how hot her temperature was. At first, I tried to help her up and maybe get her to the shower to bring the heat down, but she wouldn't budge at all. She wouldn't even let go of the fucking duvet. And then she began saying stuff about the Jane girl that didn't make sense, and I freaked out. I mean, I've dealt with Quinn when she was down with the flu before, but I've never seen her like this. I don't know what to do, Sam."

Wow, did she actually just call me by my name?

No reason to dwell on that. Turning back around, I gently lay a hand over the mound, and then run it up to the edge. I peel the thick material down, slowly revealing the girl cocooned inside, curled in a ball with her tightly-clenched fists resting below her chin and her knees dipped up to her chest. A feverish flush colors her cheeks, her face coated with a layer of sweat, matting her hair to her forehead, a deep frown upon her cherry-red lips. I can't help but notice that she hasn't changed out of her earlier clothes yet, now damp and wrinkled in certain areas, and inside, I'm kicking myself for being such a dick.

"Quinn?" I murmur, tenderly pushing her fringe off her face so that I can have a proper look at her, flinching when I feel the heat upon my skin. "Quinn, you need to wake up. We're taking you to the hospital."

I'm not a doctor—or a nursing student for that matter—so I'm as helpless as Santana is, but I know that we need to get her some medical attention because this doesn't seem normal.

"No!" Santana exclaims. "No hospital. She hates it."

"But we can't just let her continue like this," I protest. "She's like a living fireball."

"We can bring her to the doctor tomorrow if she's not getting better, but absolutely no hospital," the girl says. "The place amplifies her Empath abilities and I don't think she can handle that."

"So then what do you want me to do?"

"We need to get her to take a cold shower, you dumbass!" she snaps impatiently.

"Fine, fine," I relent, taking a deep breath to calm myself down before I explode. "Quinn, you need to take a cold shower or you'll end up in the hospital, okay?"

She shifts a little, mumbling something incoherent and she's still shivering.

"Quinn, please," I quietly plead, caressing her jaw line. "Please, you have to wake up. It won't take long, I promise. You can go back to sleep straight after but you need to take a shower."

She finally stirs, her hazel eyes peeking up to squint at me. "Why is it so cold?" she croaks.

"You're running a temperature," I patiently explain. "You're burning up right now and if it doesn't go down, it could be very dangerous for you."

"I just want to sleep," she grumbles, pouting like a six-year-old, and damn, that's fucking adorable.

"I know, and I promise that you can sleep right after you take a cold shower, alright?"

Quinn gives a reluctant nod, perhaps too tired to argue, and I reckon she would need some help. Glancing over my shoulders, I gesture for Santana to go ahead and prepare a bath while I help Quinn remove her shoes and cardigan. A part of me is rather disturbed; worried that I'm violating her personal space, but I'm constantly reminding myself that it's an emergency situation, and I'm just lending a hand. It's not like I'm stripping her naked or anything. With her dress still on, I carefully lift her off the bed and carry her into the bathroom. Santana glares at me—a silent warning that rings clear as day to me—as I set Quinn down in the tub.

"I didn't touch her, I swear."

"Good."

She's holding the showerhead in one hand and twists the knob on the wall with another, and freezing-cold water starts spraying out, splashing me a bit in the eye. Quinn shrieks at the sudden onslaught to her senses and blindly grabs onto me. Before I can register it, I'm being hauled into the bathtub with her. My clothes are now fully soaked, and I'm aware that I still have my sneakers on, but all I care about is the quaking girl who's desperately clinging onto me like a life buoy. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around her, and I hear Santana snort as she sits on the toilet bowl and continue showering over our huddled form. I turn to glare at her but she's not fazed by it, and instead offers an insolent eye-roll.

"It's so cold!" Quinn remarks through chattering teeth. "Turn it off!"

"No, no, you need it," I reason with her, even though I'm starting to feel the iciness bite into my skin. "It'll help with your temperature."

Santana just looks bored, with a hint of relief, and I notice how she appears calmer than before. She gives me a tiny smile—a small gesture of appreciation—to which I respond in kind as I hug Quinn closer to me and allow for the water to rain over my head. In spite of our current predicament, I can't help but enjoy the feel of her in my arms. Like charges of electricity flowing through my veins, her heavenly scent overwhelms me in the best way possible, and I don't think I ever want to let her go.

After a couple of minutes, I decide she's had enough, so I motion for Santana to turn the water off. Quinn sighs gratefully and slowly pulls away. Using that to my advantage, I climb out of the tub and reach for the towel on the rack, assuming that it's hers.

"That's mine, Froggy Lips."

And we're back to the insulting names.

"And you're dripping all over the floor," the Latina adds.

I neatly arrange the towel back to its original position and grab the yellow-colored one next to it instead. Flinging it over my shoulder, I take Quinn's hand in mine to help her stand up. Automatically, Santana rushes over to support her weight, making sure that she doesn't slip on the wet surface of the marble, and I'm trying to avoid looking at anything that might be offensive to her. As though reading my mind, the other girl gives me the stink eye and snatches the towel from me, quickly covering her roommate's modesty as I blush a deep shade of red.

"I can take it from here," she tells me pointedly. "Why don't you dry up or something? There's a spare towel inside that cupboard but the laundry room is in the basement. Make yourself at home."

Her invitation is harmless, but there's an underlying warning behind her tone that I'm not oblivious to, so I back off and allow Santana to guide Quinn back to her room. And then I'm standing alone in the middle of the bathroom, getting water all over the mat. I plop down on the edge of the bathtub, trying to process what the hell just happened.

Does it have anything to do with her being in the mansion earlier on? Was that the cause of her feverish state? I mean, I suppose such intense situations could add pressure to her body and mind, and with her extended abilities…I'm one hundred percent sure that she's experiencing post-traumatic stress. Paranormal experiences tend to drain the energy out of a person, even more so if that was Quinn's first time alone in such a position.

Fishing my cellphone out of my pants, I send a quick text to Artie, letting him know what's going on although I'm positive he won't be reading it till morning. If there's somebody who's well versed in such topics, it would be him, and hopefully he'll be able to shed some light on this. Releasing a long exhale, I rub the tiredness out of my eyes before pulling the wet shirt over my head and stripping out of my jeans. The cold shower has left me with a hard boner, and fuck, I'm just praying the girls hadn't noticed it.

Closing my eyes, I try to focus my attention on something else to try and bring it down, and I can't believe how fucking difficult it is with me being in close range to the one girl that I'm ass-backwards crazy about. I'm jolted out of my thoughts when I hear a knock on the door.

"Hey, you better not be jerking off in there," Santana calls out from the other side; bursting whatever balloon that I'm on.

I glance down at my crotch. Huh, I guess that works too.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, there you go! LOL! Okay, so basically, I needed a situation that would make Quinn trust Sam again, and vice versa—a personal moment that would allow them to connect at a level—hence, this chapter is born! Let me know what you think! Too cheesy? Too clichéd?

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading this story time and again, and reviewing with encouraging comments! I've always appreciated it! I'm really glad you liked the previous chapter with Finn's P.O.V :D I hope the speed of the story is satisfactory! LOL! This is sort of like the aftermath and how it affects Quinn, and I've always loved the three-way interactions between them because it's always so fun to write! I'm glad you liked Rachel's character; I mean, she was never a bad person to me to begin with, so…yeah! Let me know what you think of this update :D

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! As usual, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You're always such a doll! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the previous chapter!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I say that so many times, I hope it doesn't sound stale, but I truly do appreciate your time! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter with Finn's P.O.V. His character allows me to venture into the different dynamics of the group, and he's so funny because he's endearingly obnoxious. LOL! As far as this story goes, Rachel has always been the smartest character in the group, and it's just unfortunate that the rest of her teammates don't see it that way. Everybody thinks that she has a personal vendetta with Quinn, but really, she's the only one sensible enough to discern the whole picture. I've brought Kurt and Blaine into this chapter, even though they are not of so much significance at the moment, but Brittany is definitely on the way. There's a case that involves her later on, so watch out for that :D

**FabrevansOTP:** Hello! Well, you are very welcome! Thank you so much for taking time to read and review my work! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter even without the Sam/Quinn interaction, but I've brought it back in this update, so hopefully you've enjoyed it!

**Burnthiscityxx:** LOL! I received your review literally minutes before I was going to upload this chapter, and so I quickly composed a reply to fit you in :D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and leaving great comments about my story! Finn was such a pleasure to write because he's just so full of himself but he doesn't exactly know how to be confident in his actions, so the irony was just too funny! Regardless, I'm so glad you liked it! With Quinn being a psychic medium, it was a cautious step to take because I needed her to be something more than an Empath to have a bigger impact on the paranormal. It will also definitely help for when Sam's trying to find out about that mysterious man in his dreams (hint, hint!). Let me know what you think of this chapter!


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **So! I'm running out on what to say here, so I'll just present you with this chapter and let it do all the talking. LOL!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 21**

**Friday, 8.15am**

**/Sam Evans**

I've been awake all night, finding myself unable to fall asleep while I keep my eyes trained on the slumbering figure of Quinn Fabray. Her fever has gone down some and she's not shivering anymore, so I suppose the cold shower works. Rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes, I sink further down the uncomfortable swivel chair and stifle a yawn.

There's a soft knock on the door and I look up to see Santana standing at the entrance of the bedroom, already dressed for the day. She tilts her head and gives me an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow.

"You're still here?" she asks.

I wordlessly nod my head in reply, folding my arms over my chest.

"Look, I'm going to go get some breakfast. Do you want anything?" Her tone is civil and I'm appreciative of her attempt at being accommodating even though I know she hates my guts. I suppose the only reason why she hasn't kicked me out yet is because she had called me over to begin with.

"No, thanks."

She plants one hand on her hip. "Let me phrase it differently for you," she says pointedly. "It's bagel and coffee, or nothing."

"No, I'm fine—"

"Bagel it is, then," she interrupts, totally disregarding my weak protests. Spinning on her heels, she sticks her nose up in the air and prances off. A moment later, I hear the front door open and close, and I know she has left. Frankly, I'm surprised that she actually trusts me enough to leave me in the apartment alone with her best friend.

My eyelids are starting to droop, and I'm glad Santana's coming back with coffee because I'm not sure how long I'll last. I probably need to do something to keep me occupied, so I stand up and start skimming through the shelves of books against the wall. There are vintage publications that I've never heard of, and some poetry and literature that I remember reading in high school, but my eyes are drawn to the row of graphic novels.

Oh, damn.

Running my fingers across the spines, my jaw drops as I notice that she's got practically the entire collection—including some limited edition copies—of super hero comics; some of which I have yet to read, and it's still surprising how Quinn constantly doesn't fail to amaze me. I wonder if she'll kick me in the nuts if I go over and kiss her now, because there's nothing more attractive than a girl who knows the difference between Marvel and DC.

I pull one title out and resume my previous position to read it. Engrossed in the story, I don't realize it when Quinn wakes up until I hear her delicate voice calling out to me.

"Sam?"

Glancing over, I see that she's trying to get up, and immediately I rush over to make sure she doesn't hop out of bed. I lay a hand on her leg as she eases slowly to lean against the headboard, still groggy from everything. "Hey, easy. How are you feeling, Quinn?"

"Like I got hit by a truck," she murmurs, pushing the bangs from her hazel eyes. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

I'm not sure how to break it to her. "Do you remember anything?"

"It's sort of hazy to me right now."

"I think it's called post-traumatic stress," I try to explain. "It's nothing relatively serious, but paranormal experiences have a tendency to drain away a person's energy or cause fatigue. It's probably why you caught a fever."

"How'd you—"

"Santana called me last night. She told me that you were running a temperature and she didn't know what to do."

"So you came over?"

I shrug my shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. "I had to make sure you were okay."

"You stayed the night?"

The corner of my lips twitches upwards, smiling lopsidedly at her, and I watch as the guilt washes over her angelic features. She starts fiddling with the edge of her duvet, her brows furrowed, and I know it's all coming back to her. We're silent for a bit in an unsettling freeze in time, and I'm wondering what's going on in that pretty little head of hers. The reality of the situation is slowly sinking in, and it's as though we're both realizing it at the same time. I have so many questions in my head that need to be answered, but I'm not sure how to go about doing it without scaring her off.

"Where's Santana?"

"She went to get breakfast."

Quinn looks almost horrified. "And you let her?"

"Erm…"

"She'll terrorize Rory again."

Okay, I'm officially confused. "Who?"

"That Irish dude that works in the café at the corner," she supplies, animatedly waving her hands around. "She makes fun of his accent all the time."

"She makes fun of _me_ all the time," I point out.

"Sure, but she doesn't threaten to get you deported if her sugar-free soy latte isn't made to her every specification," Quinn rolls her eyeballs, and I can't help but chuckle. "You can expect your bagel and coffee in three hours."

"How did you know—"

"That's all she ever orders for me."

And then we're back to the awkward pause again, like how it had been in the library yesterday. I'm running possible conversation starters in my head; anything to eliminate the deafening silence between us, and with her being an Empath—or a psychic medium, I'm still figuring out the technicalities—I'm sure she's picking up on it like a meteor shower. Even though I'm aware that she can't necessarily read my mind, I think it's safe to assume that she's deciphering my emotions enough to gauge my thoughts.

"Thank you, Sam, for everything you've done for me, and I'm sorry to have bothered you," she says, staring at me with those hypnotic eyes. "I don't know what would've happened to me if you hadn't been there last night."

"Quinn…"

She shamefully averts her gaze away, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "You probably want to know what I was doing there, right?"

I don't reply her. Instead, I reach out to take her dainty hands in mine and rub soothing circles against her warm, smooth palms. She doesn't pull away from me, but she's looking down at our point of contact like she's uncovering the secret to life. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she takes a deep breath.

"I couldn't get her off my mind," she begins, and instantly I know whom she's referring to. "I feel like she's calling out to me—calling me to her—and I tried to ignore it, but as hard as I tried, I couldn't. So I went back."

I decide not to press her on for details.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"You wouldn't have understood."

"It was a really stupid thing to do, Quinn," I tell her solemnly. "You were putting yourself in danger, and anything could've happened to you. You scared me half to death last night, do you know that?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, her cheeks flushing a shade of red. "I just, I just—" Her eyes start watering, and in alarm, I scoot closer to her in hopes that she wouldn't start crying. I'm a dude. There's only a certain amount of tears I can take.

I sit there, and I'm trying to figure out what to do next when I start hearing the sniffles. She's trying to keep it together for me, and I'm feeling like a total idiot because I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. "Come here," I whisper, lifting my arms up to gesture her over.

Quinn stares at me for a bit, probably weighing my intentions, but eventually she crawls over the blanket and settles against my body. "Promise me you won't do that again, alright?"

She nods in reply, pushing her face in my chest, and I let out a small sigh. It's been a crazy few days, and the emotional roller coaster ride had been draining on both of us, but even so, I can't forgo the fact that our so-called complicated friendship had started off based on lies. In a span of five days, we've probably been through more than what normal people would experience in a year, and it's still rather overwhelming. Still, I can't deny how, despite everything that had occurred, I'm still ass-backwards in love with Quinn Fabray.

I'm so fucking screwed.

"I didn't mean for all this to happen, Sam," she quietly admits. "I came on board because I wanted to search for answers and help my mum, and it hadn't been my intention at all to lie to anybody. I'm sorry if I had betrayed your trust."

"It's not your fault, Quinn. We both did and said stuff that we're not proud of, but I'm hoping we can move past that."

She raises her head to meet my gaze, and I sense her hesitation. Gently, I pull away so that I can properly take a look at her beautiful face. I want her to know that I'm sincere in my feelings towards her, and that there aren't any ulterior motives, whatsoever. Cupping her porcelain cheeks in my hands, I give her a nervous smile.

"We probably moved too fast the first time round, but I really like you, Quinn," I confess to her. "You've captivated me and I want to know more about you. I want to know what other graphic novels you enjoy reading, and I want to know how your abilities work. What I'm trying to say is that, I want you to give us another chance at this. I want to take you out on dates and movies, and to find out everything there is to know about you."

I pause, then, because I realize that I'm rambling, and that I probably look like a dumbass.

"Sam…"

"Quinn, would you do me the honors of being my girlfriend?"

The dreadful moments that follow feels like forever as she stares at me, her mouth slightly agape, and I'm waiting for her so say something—anything—to dispel the silence in the room. I'm trying to read her mind, carefully observing her every tiny reaction, hoping for an indication of some sort.

"I—I can't."

My heart sinks in disappointment, and it's as though someone had punched me in the gut. I've never felt like this before, and it's already starting to suck pretty badly.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I just—I don't think I'm ready for that," she says. "It's not a good moment for me, and it wouldn't be fair for you. I think we should just be friends."

There's a huge lump in my throat that I'm desperately trying to swallow, and I don't think I've been this crushed since…ever. She's giving me an apologetic look, but I don't want her to feel like she's doing me any favors, so I choke it up and force a grin.

"That's fine," I tell her, trying to sound as aloof as possible—not like it'll ever work on an Empath—and I'm scratching the back of my neck. "I totally understand it. Sure, I think that's a really great idea. We should just start off as friends again and maybe we can—"

She places a hand on my shoulder and cuts me off before I can continue babbling again. "I really like you, Sam, I do," she says. "I just don't think it's a good idea right now for us to pursue a relationship too soon after everything that had happened in the past few days."

"You're right," I quickly agree. "You're absolutely right. We should go back to being just friends—"

"But Sam," she interrupts once more. "As a friend, I—I really want to help you."

It takes a while for me to process what she means by that.

"No, no, you don't have to, Quinn, really."

"I've been thinking about it, and you were right. Besides, I think I kind of owe you one."

My forehead creases in confusion. "You owe me nothing."

"Just let me help you. Together, we can figure it out. I'm sure you want to know who that person in your dream is."

There are probably an infinite number of reasons as to why this is a bad idea.

"I would love to know who he is, Quinn, but we can't."

She tilts her head. "Why not?"

I run my fingers through my hair, and I can hear Artie's words in my head. "It's out of our element and far too dangerous. We don't know what forces we're dealing with here."

"What are you talking about?" she scoffs. "Sam, this isn't Star Wars."

"Exactly," I tell her. "The realm of the paranormal is boundless, and it could be so much more than we think."

"Okay, you're confusing me right now."

"Quinn, you're not just an Empath, okay?"

She narrows her eyes accusingly at me. "Are you mocking me?"

"Artie believes that you're a psychic medium."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Is this fine? LOL! Okay, so I'm convinced that this story isn't moving fast enough, but they're sort of like baby steps, right? I had to make sure Sam and Quinn are civil enough before I introduce the main story. Something's not right with this chapter. I have a nagging feeling at the back of my head, so let me know what you think, alright?

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hi! Okay, so I'm counting on you to tell me the truth about this chapter. Please let me know if it sucks, because I can't shake the feeling off that something's missing. Damn! Anyway, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the part with Kurt and Blaine. I'm sure we're all guilty of it one way or another. I might have scared off a couple of neighbors and some cats. Although this chapter doesn't answer much of anything, I hope it'll get Quinn and Sam talking on his dream, and that they can solve that together from here on. :D

**PatrickJ87:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you like how Sam and Quinn's relationship works. It's sort of like a constant tug-of-war with them because they had initially rushed into it and now they're both trying to figure out where they stand with each other. I'm not thrilled with this update, but do let me know what you think :D

**DeGleesi:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter! I'm glad you love the Sam/Santana interactions! Also, I really appreciate your questions pertaining to Quinn and her abilities. They will definitely be answered soon, probably in the upcoming chapters. I can't wait to bring Brittany in too! She'll be up in the next update (spoiler alert). Regarding the penises, I did ask my boyfriend about it, and he said, 'I actually don't notice it because you're usually in the shower with me'…LOL! So in conclusion, I think you're right, and they do shrink in the cold, so thank you so pointing that out! Let's just say his penis stood up because of something else (Quinn and her see-through dress…cough, cough). Please let me know what you think of this chapter. I'm not completely satisfied with it, so if you could pick something out that's making the update weird in any way, please don't hesitate to let me know! Cheers!

**Gleeothfriends90210cccjsdAMD:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you like the story so far!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

**FabrevansOTP:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! I really hope you've enjoyed this one because I feel something's not right with it. Let me know if you've spotted anything that's missing, or if I've left out anything crucial that could explain the weirdness. Cheers!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad you loved Kurt and Blaine because they're really fun characters to play with too! I'm also glad to know that you've enjoyed the Sam and Quinn interactions in the previous update! Your question regarding Quinn's health has been cleared up in this chapter, so you were spot on with that assumption! I have a million theories in my head as well regarding the man in Sam's dreams, so I'm just hoping to pin it down when I get to it :D I'm glad you liked the humor in the story. Santana always makes for an awesome comic relief! Let me know what you think of this update :D


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **Without further ado, here's chapter 22 (it actually rhymes, LOL)!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 22**

**Friday, 12.40pm**

**/Rachel Berry**

Usually, I'd find Mr. Schuester's class exceptionally enjoyable—perhaps it's due to the fact that I possess a personal interest in the subject itself—but currently, I'm on a case mission. Instead of taking down helpful notes like I always do, I have my eyes peeled on the blonde girl sitting two rows in front of me, one table to the left, as I closely observe her throughout the entire class.

Even from an angle, I can tell that she's bored out of her mind. Slouched over the desk with her chin resting on her arm, Brittany appears to be mindlessly doodling on her exam pad with a purple sharpie. Her admission into college has always puzzled me. Though I'm sure she's not stupid—for the lack of a better word—in any way, I can't help but wonder the extents of her academic qualifications. Of course, class rankings have offered an insight on her grades—which surprisingly are rather creditable—and I'm quite convinced she got in on her own merit.

Then again, I can't think of anything more creative than having a pet cat disguised as a rainbow-spewing leprechaun.

"Alright, class, so I expect your essays to be submitted on Monday, no later than five o'clock," Mr. Schue informs the class, and even before he can finish the sentence, students are already scrambling to get out of the room.

"In the morning?" someone idiotically yells out from across the room.

Mr. Schue places his hands on his hips and lets out a tired sigh. "I'd be impressed if that's possible, Shane."

A round of snickers emanates from all around, and I'm shaking my head, unable to comprehend such childish behavior by a fully-grown adult. It's embarrassing and extremely unnecessary. Sliding my supplies into my satchel, I spy Brittany heading for the exit and I hurry over to catch up to her.

"Hi, Brittany," I greet her in my most winning smile as I fall into step with her. She's a fast-walker and I'm having a bit of trouble keeping up, but nevertheless, I stick my right hand out to introduce myself. It's only polite. "I'm Rachel."

"Oh, hi, Rachel," she grins back politely, accepting my gesture. Even so, she doesn't stop in her tracks, and I'm starting to think that she hasn't a clue because that seems to be the end of our conversation.

I'm debating if I should mention the fact that I'm a paranormal investigator, but I figure it will interfere with the accuracy of the results. I can't jolly well just tell her that I'm gathering data to ensure that she's mentally stable, can I? I mean, yeah, that's the whole point, but what are the odds that Brittany might think of me as the crazy one?

Maybe I should've searched this up on the Internet.

"So," I begin, clearing my throat to grab her attention once again. "Are you heading for lunch?"

She looks at me like I'm speaking in another language. "I don't like getting my hair dirty so I walk."

It's my turn to gawk at her. What is she talking about? "Are you going to the cafeteria?"

"Yes. Isn't it obvious?" We make a left turn at the junction. "Why are you following me?"

Quick, I need an excuse.

"I was wondering if I can have lunch with you."

"Yeah, sure," she says. "But I have to tell you that I usually reserve a seat for Candice and she hates it when you sit in her chair."

I nod my head, even though I'm pretty sure she always eats by herself. "Of course."

All of a sudden, she halts in her steps. "Oh, dang it. Do you have a lighter with you?"

"Sorry, I don't smoke."

She doesn't get it. "But I'm asking for a lighter, not a cigarette."

I would think it's self-explanatory, but I'm starting to realize that I've got to be more literal with my words. "No, sorry," I tell her as patiently as possible. My cheeks hurt from all the creepy Cheshire cat-like grinning. "I don't have a lighter with me."

"Shit," she hisses, and then sort of grumbles to herself before resuming towards the dining hall.

"Why would you need a lighter?"

"Candice has an addiction to burnt licorice."

This conversation is getting ridiculous by the minute, and I'm obligated to believe that Brittany needs some serious psychological counseling because that has to be the only explanation. Nothing she's saying makes any semblance of logic. Perhaps I should stick around and find out who this mysterious Candice is. I mean, if she's as odd as she sounds, then there's a chance I've uncovered the root of the problem.

Who in their right mind enjoys burnt licorice? Half the time, I don't even enjoy regular licorice, so I'm not sure if it's the new college fad or something.

"That's…" I'm searching for an appropriate term to describe it. "Interesting."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 1.35pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

I'm going through the history records again for the South Oak Mansion case, and never in my career as a paranormal investigator have I done such extensive research on a single location. The indexes are endless, and I have several names listed as possible candidates for 'Tom', but I still have an entire file to study.

At least this time, I have Artie help me go through the more intensive war documents. I even have with me several pieces of photocopied correspondences and letters from the archives pertaining to the soldiers in the area. We're also not limiting ourselves to just the infantry unit that had been deployed, and as I'm scanning through the pages in front of me, I'm actually wondering if this is all even worth it.

Don't get me wrong; I like Quinn. She's a cool girl, and I respect her abilities because I've seen Artie at work and it's pretty impressive how Empaths operate. However, I need to keep an open mind and not get too caught up in the moment. Sure, it'll be really cool to solve a hundred-year-old mystery and sorts, but we still need proof. Even if we do find the correct Tom, what else is there to it?

"Artie?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really believe that Quinn's a psychic medium?"

He glances up from his stack of papers and pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I do."

"And you truly believe that this Tom guy is a soldier linked to Jane and Harley?"

Artie pauses for a moment to sort his thoughts out. "I don't know. I'm not even sure if there's such a Tom, and for all we know, we're probably going in circles hunting for a phantom person that probably doesn't exist, but this obviously means something to Sam."

"But are we being too irrational with this?" I ask, gesturing towards the messy pile in front of us. "We're probably taking it too far."

"Hey, dude, digging through the enlistment documents was your bright idea," Artie snickers. "I'm just here to help."

There's a knock on the door, and we turn our heads to see none other than Quinn Fabray standing by the doorway, looking less than pleased as she marches up to us. "Is it true?"

Artie and I exchange identical looks, but it's clear that she's not referring the question to me. Her eyes are on my technical advisor as they try and stare each other down or something. Maybe it's an Empath thing. It was probably a lie when Artie mentioned that they aren't telepathic because they seem to understand each other perfectly.

"Is what true?"

Or not.

"You told Sam that I'm a psychic medium?"

Oh.

Artie shrugs his scrawny shoulders. "Yeah."

"Why would you say that?" she demands, waving her hands around. I've never seen this side of her, and I have to admit, it's pretty funny.

"Because it's true," Artie simply answers her.

"How sure are you?"

"It makes total sense, Quinn," he calmly tells her. "You have Empath abilities, but when you told me about it the first day, you mentioned that what you experienced was different. You get flashes of images in your head, and you tend to read the surroundings or objects better than you can read people's emotions. That on its own is a form of psychometry, where you receive impressions. When you were in the mansion both times, what you did was called 'scrying', and it means that you can sense or see what other people can't."

I'm absorbing as much as I can because this is completely new territory for me. Even though I'm the dude who does all the smart stuff, it's never been my task to look up on mediums or psychic behavior. Artie doesn't talk about his abilities much either, and we're basing all of our investigations on concrete and scientific evidences, so if you think about it, there really is no reason for doing so. Besides, apart from Artie, nobody has ever come up to us and claim him or herself to be of a paranormal connection.

Glancing over at Quinn, I see the color drain from her face.

"That doesn't make me a medium."

He narrows his eyes at her. "You were communicating, were you not? You were able to listen and relay messages from entities. Some people call it 'clairvoyance' and it's not something an Empath possesses."

"That's insane," she scoffs, but I can tell she's spooked out by everything. Backing away from us, she holds her hands out and shifts her eyes to the floor. "No, no, that can't be it."

"Quinn, communicating with spirits or entities require a lot of energy, and in some cases, the dead draws the energy from you in order to manifest and channel themselves. It was probably why you felt feverish right after that."

"No, stop. You can't just assume things like that. I'm just an Empath, alright?" she insists. "That's all I am."

"Okay, okay, fine," Artie concedes, and I'm sure that even though he can't really read her thoughts, he's aware that the situation is making her uncomfortable. "But I need your help."

She lifts her head to meet his gaze. "What do you need?"

"We need you to help us figure out who's Tom."

A shadow casts over Quinn's flawless face, a new burst of fire burning behind her hazel eyes and it startles me for a bit how fast her mood changes. "How'd you know about Tom?"

"Sam told us."

Realization dawns upon her features, but I can tell she's not entirely pleased with it. "Oh, okay then."

"Do you remember anything from last night?" I ask, hoping it'll spark something in her memory—perhaps some crucial information that can help us with this mystery. "Like a last name to go with that?"

Quinn gnaws on her bottom lip, her brows furrowed in concentration as she tries to recall anything from her recent experience. "There's a face, like a quick second. He was shouting, but there are so many voices; it got so loud, and Jane was screaming his name over and over again."

Her voice starts cracking and she's choking on her sentences, and I don't know why but I feel like a total douche because she's doing all she can to help us, and conjuring up all the ugly stuff in her head; it's got to be tough on her—especially since she's still so new to this business. Would it be inappropriate if I give her a hug right now?

"It's fine," I kindly assure her. "Don't worry about it."

"We actually have a couple of names with us," Artie informs her, excavating his notebook from the mountain of papers. He thrusts it into Quinn's hands. "Do me a favor, Fabray, and run your fingers over the names."

She skeptically quirks an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

"Just do it," he replies, rolling his eyes.

Quinn hesitates, because yeah, he's probably nuts, but she reads the list anyway, skimming over the page and contemplating if she ought to give it a shot—whatever it is that he's trying to make her do. Reluctantly, she lifts two fingers, hovering for a moment before she touches the paper, and I watch the smooth line of her lips turns into a frown. Slowly, she trails her digits downwards, and then halts somewhere at the bottom.

"That's just freaky," she whispers.

"What did you get?" Artie asks, as though he already knows it.

"Tom Earles."

I snatch the book from her hands and study the name, and then I'm scrambling to locate the dude's enlistment document. The black-and-white copies I have are barely readable, but as I'm scanning through what I have, I notice that some things are off about our soldier.

"There are no mentions of his death," I announce. "No telegrams are attached, or letters from family members. It's like; nobody knew he died because it wasn't documented. He joined the army in early 1860; he was nineteen at that time. He was part of the regiment that was sent here, so there is a possibility that he crossed the South Oak Mansion, or perhaps even took shelter there. However, everything else after that is a blank, and it's as though he completely disappeared or something."

"So the stories and alleged reports are true?"

I look up at the blonde beauty. "There's a possibility, but it's still not strong enough an evidence to conclude that claim."

But Artie isn't even interested in that. "You saw something, didn't you?"

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 3.15pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Class ended later than I had expected, and I'm rushing down to the headquarters at the other end of campus, cursing the lecturer with each step I take. I need to talk to Artie about Quinn's psychic medium thing, and I want to know how dangerous that sort of stuff is. I mean, communicating with the spirits is like opening a portal in your head, right? If it's as delicate as I think it is, then I would like to make sure that I'm not putting Quinn in such a position.

She had insisted on helping me with that strange man in my dreams, and I've given her so many chances to back out of it, but she's adamant on solving the mystery—even if she's nothing more than a friend—or so I keep telling myself that. The sting of rejection is still mildly fresh, and I feel a bit of my heart crumble every time I think about it. No matter how many times I keep reminding myself that it's for the best, or that it's better than not having to talk to her at all, the dull pang still lingers and toys with my stupid emotions.

How the hell did I become such a pansy?

Jogging into the room, I'm greeted by an odd sight of Artie, Mike and Quinn huddling around a computer, reading or watching something that's so interesting, they don't take their eyes off the screen when I come in.

What the hell are they doing?

I set my stuff down on an empty chair and walk over so that I'm standing behind the monitor before clearing my throat to get their attention. "What's going on here?"

Mike hits the space bar on the keyboard as Quinn jumps to her feet, startled at my appearance. I guess she hasn't expected it, but don't we have two Empaths in the room? Surely one of them could sense it when I entered.

"Hey," she says, flustered, as she smoothens her dress out. "Sorry, I know I shouldn't be here but—"

"No, stay," I tell her. "You're still part of the group, remember?"

She gives me a small smile in return.

Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I nod to my two investigators. "What are you guys watching?"

Mike wordlessly turns the computer around, and there's a freeze frame of a video on one of those streaming websites. On the header, it reads: Psychic Medium Scrying.

Huh.

"So it's true, then?" I direct my question back to the only girl in the room.

She shrugs her petite shoulders and glances over at Artie with slight uncertainty. "I guess so?" Throwing her hands up in the air, she lets out a sigh. "I don't know. It all sounds too crazy right now."

I shoot Artie a questioning look, hoping he'll fill me in on the holes. He gets it, though, because hey, he has some special abilities of his own, and wheels over to a nearby table. He grabs a couple sheets of paper and passes them to me. I can tell that it's a documentation of some sort, probably an enlistment letter or something, but nothing actually makes sense.

Until I read the names.

"Tom Earles?"

I receive three simultaneous nods in response.

"How—"

"Quinn did it," Mike smirks and lightly nudges her side. My selfish and egotistical side feels a pang of jealousy at the proximity in the contact. "She used her magic and saw some shit, and then _poof_, we got a name."

She rolls her eyes at his blatant exaggeration. "Shut up."

"You had some flashes?"

"It's not something I can explain, but when I ran my fingers over the names in Artie's notebook, I had a strong pull to that one, and then I had a really quick flash, and I think it's him," she says and tucks some strands of blonde hair behind her ear.

It takes a lot to convince me, especially when it comes to the paranormal, but the honesty that shines out of those hazel eyes, and the sincerity in her angelic features, makes it impossible not to believe her. I can't prove anything with her words, and I can verify if her assumptions are true, but at this moment, it doesn't really matter. We might not be able to present our findings to the client because there's nothing to back us up, and that's absolutely fine by me.

However, if it is indeed true what she is, then we're definitely dealing with something bigger than ourselves.

"Shit."

"What's wrong?" Mike asks.

"Quinn, can I talk to you for a moment?"

She understands almost immediately and follows me out into the hallway. She faces me, determination swimming in her twin pools of caramel so intense, I feel like I'm drowning in her strong essence. It's almost poetic, the way she serenades me without even trying. For a splitting moment, I forget my troubles as her calming presence overwhelms me.

"Are you going to say something?"

I snap out of my daze at the sound of her melodic voice. "You don't have to do this, Quinn."

She takes a step closer, gazing up at me, and my heart starts speeding up and pounding in my chest. I can smell her sweet perfume and it's making me light-headed. "I've told you before, Sam. I want to help you. Stop trying to talk me out of it."

"It could be dangerous. You got sick the last time."

"We don't know it until we try," she murmurs.

"I thought you don't believe it."

There's a pregnant pause as she stares at the wall behind me, and I'm wondering why she would risk herself to help me. "I'm willing to give it a shot. I know about this just as much as you do right now, and I have no clue how this whole thing works, but I'll figure it out. _We_'ll figure this out. Together."

Against my better judgment, I take a step forward, studying her perfect face. "Why do you want to help me, Quinn?"

"Because I don't want you to be alone in this."

I'm so tempted to kiss her right now; hold her in my arms.

"Why?"

She blinks, and her long eyelashes flutter like butterflies.

"Because that's what friends are for."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So there you go! 'That's what friends are for'. Yeah, right. LOL! Anyway, hope you guys have enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for your honest opinion for the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked how Quinn reacted to the situation when Sam asked her to be his girlfriend. In my head, he looked like a kicked puppy, and I keep asking myself why I'm making the cute boy suffer. LOL! Well, you can see their attempt at being friends here, I mean, they're trying, but…you know. You can't deny the obvious attraction. Haha! I love the idea of an emoticon rating system! It'll be your own unique style of reviewing! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**FabrevansOTP:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter! I'm glad you liked the touch with the comic books. That small trivia might come in handy in the future of this story; kind of like a special bonding moment for those two, yes? I'm glad you think Quinn turning Sam down makes it interesting, and I'm glad you understand her reason behind it, too. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hi! THANK YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU so much for reading and reviewing! I feel like I need to return the amount of 'O's you give to me in your reviews. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **I know I took some time with this, but I got it out eventually, and I guess it's longer than my other chapter, so that should make up for my tardiness, right? LOL!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 23**

**Friday, 5.25pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"Alright, guys, so what are the updates?" I ask my team as we sit in a circle for our usual meeting session to follow up on the individual tasks that have been assigned. Even though we're all familiar with what each other are working on, it's always good to hold a proper discussion so that Tina can take down the minutes and archive them accordingly.

I've always been big on keeping records of our past investigations so that we can revisit certain cases when we need to, especially when clients call us up again with recent developments or paranormal activities that continue to occur.

As always, Rachel is the first to volunteer her information.

"Well, I've managed to have a little chat with Brittany during lunch just now," she begins, and I nod for her to proceed. "And I feel that we might be working with something out of our element here."

Rachel, being Rachel, pauses for dramatic effect, and I reckon I should move the discussion along. "What do you mean?"

"I think Mike was right," she says, opening her notebook and turning to a specific page. "I've always dismissed her active imagination as a form of creative expression, but I think there's more to it than what she claims to experience." Tucking some hair behind her ear, she continues, "She has an imaginary friend whom she thinks is real."

Intrigued, I sit up straighter in my chair, darting my eyes to the rest of my group and observing their different reactions. My gaze lands on Quinn, seated a little ways off to my right next to Mike, listening intently to Rachel's report, and I feel myself crack a little.

How can anybody be so God damn beautiful?

"And this imaginary friend, did Brittany say anything about it?" Mike queries.

"Here's the thing; so I had decided to join her for lunch and try to get to know her better, and she was saying how Candice hates it when people sits in her chair—"

"So I'm assuming Candice is the imaginary friend?" I clarify.

Rachel nods her head. "You're correct, and throughout the entire lunch, I'm trying to figure out what the heck was going on because she was talking to somebody that I obviously couldn't see. I told her to describe Candice for me and she was shocked, but then she sort of recovered and said that only special people are able to see her."

"What does that mean?" Tina scrunches her nose in confusion.

"Anything else, Rachel?" I prod on.

"She kept making comments, saying stuff like 'Candice thinks your hair's too straight' or 'No, we can't do that right now, Candice' and truthfully, it's all too weird. She needs to talk to somebody with professional help. I don't think there's anything paranormal going on there," Rachel concludes.

"What about those claims she made about stuff that have been going on in her house?" Quinn adds into the conversation. "The bedside lamp switching on and off, the feeling of constantly being watched, and the black shadow figure in her room?"

"Did you manage to ask her about that?" I glance back at the brunette.

"No, I figure I'd do some character analysis first and then slowly approach her about her experiences," Rachel explains. "Do you think it's safe to proceed with it?"

I ponder over it for a moment. "I suppose you can go ahead and bring it up. They might be two different things, you know. She has an imaginary friend but she sees other things as well, so that's rather strange, and it doesn't hurt to do a bit more probing."

"Got it."

"Does anybody else have anything to contribute to that?" I address the rest of the people in the circle.

"Is it very rare to see dark shadows?" Quinn asks. "I mean, there's a difference between an apparition and a black mist or a black fog, right?"

She's on to something, and although I'm sure she's quite apt about the paranormal—as opposed to most of us who are skeptics—it's still impossible not to listen to her opinions. I mean, with her abilities, she's got a foot into the other side. It might not be something that we can prove or verify, but it's always a possibility.

There are six types of haunting, and the first step is always to figure out which one it is.

"Shadow people?" Artie speculates.

Cue Rachel.

"Shadow people don't manipulate objects, Artie," she points out. "Besides, it's hard to discern anything right now without needing to dig up more information."

"She's right," I agree. "We can't really tell at the moment, so until we have further information, we'll keep this case in view. In the meantime, I think Tina has some updates on the case with the babysitter?"

"Yeah," Tina speaks up, shuffling her stack of papers around in search for the right piece. She isn't known to be the most organized person, which is why Mike helps her out with the sorting, but when it comes to documentation, she's gets everything down to the itty-gritty. "I do, actually. I've spoken with the babysitter; her name's Sugar Motta, and even though it's not exactly her house, she's gotten permission from the couple living there about us coming in to investigate."

"What does the family think of the supposed hauntings?" Mike asks.

"They're quite skeptical about it because they're hardly ever home so they don't necessarily experience anything," Tina replies. "Of course they think Sugar's just imagining things, but she's always felt strongly about the phenomenon, so she's managed to convince them to give us a shot."

"Have the activity increased since the last time she wrote in to us?" I want to know, because every tiny detail counts. It gives us an indication on the level of paranormal occurrences that goes on; should it be an intelligent haunting or perhaps a demon activity.

"Not really," Tina shrugs her shoulders. "She still feels like she's being watched all the time, but she's more aware of the shadow figures that seem to come out of hiding and linger in certain areas of the house."

"Alright, cool," I comment. "So when can we expect to hold a walk-through?"

"This weekend is fine for her. The family's away for a short road trip, so if you want, we can do a survey tomorrow afternoon and come back the next day for the investigation," Tina informs us. "Is it cool with you?"

"Yeah, that's fine with me," I let her know and then turn to Artie for confirmation. "Do you think that's sufficient time to prepare all of the equipment?"

"I'm sure we can manage," he smirks before looking over at Quinn. "Besides, we have an extra pair of hands on board now. It shouldn't take us long to set everything up."

"Shut up," she quips with a roll of her hazel eyes.

"What time do we need to meet tomorrow and how long is the journey to our location?" Rachel inquires, a snappy tone to her voice, and I reckon she's still strung up about Quinn returning to the group, but let's just say I haven't exactly told the other half of the team the reason why. They're probably deducing that she's changed her mind and decided to stay or something.

Boy, is she going to flip later on, then.

"It takes about an hour tops to drive there," Tina says. "We should probably head in early so that it'll give us more time to plan for the investigation."

"Sounds good to me," I approve. "Why don't we meet here tomorrow at 11? We'll have a short lunch together and the usual briefing, and then we'll head up to the house and be back before sundown. Any questions?"

Quinn timidly raises her hands, a sheepish look on her face, and it's almost too cute. I gesture for her to continue. "Do you need me on this case?"

I'm stunned that she would even need to ask. "Of course, why wouldn't you be?"

"No, it's not that, don't get me wrong," she quickly blurts out. "I love going on investigations with you guys, but do you think it's a good idea? I mean, I just got to know that I'm not entirely an Empath and—"

"What?"

Told you Rachel's going to flip, and right now, she just about looks like someone told her that she's received an 'F' on her assignment, and I'm just praying I don't have to intervene on one of her temper tantrums. She's old enough to handle that on her own, right?

"Rachel—" Finn attempts, only to have a hand shove in his face.

"She's not an Empath?" she spits out, fuming in rage, and I'm wondering why she's blowing this out of proportion.

"She's a Clairvoyant," Artie jumps in.

Mike appears confused for a second. "Wait, I thought she's a Psychic Medium."

"They're the same thing," I tell him.

"How did this happen?" Rachel demands, shooting to her feet. "And you guys knew? Is that why you let her stay? Sam, we're paranormal investigators, not paranormal instigators."

"Okay, look, Rachel, you've got to learn to calm down, alright?" I tell her, as non-patronizing as possible. The last thing I need at the moment is to baby her mood. "First of all, I'm appreciative that Quinn respects the team enough to ask and doesn't just assume, and as a fellow investigator, Rachel, you should honor that respect. We're all here to do our jobs and to help people no matter what it takes. It was Artie who figured it out; Quinn had no idea, so why don't you cut her some slack?"

Feeling foolish for her outburst, Rachel turned a deep shade of red and quietly sat back down in her chair. I take that as a positive thing—a short-term submission—and think of a verdict. It's a tough decision for so many reasons. Despite how Rachel handled the news, she does have a valid point. There are plenty of risks we're taking with Quinn if she comes in on an investigation, and damn; only Lord knows how it'll affect her in such unfamiliar situations. I mean, she's been there for our first investigation, and though she had kept it together, it got bad pretty quickly after that. Fuck it, as much as I treasure a case, my team's safety and wellbeing always comes first.

And I'm reminding myself that it's not because I'm falling for her.

"You can help Artie out at central command," I regretfully say to her, feeling a punch to my gut when I see the slight crestfallen look in her gorgeous eyes. "We'll practice on it, alright?"

She nods, a small smile grazing her lips, and I'm glad she understands where I'm coming from. "Sounds good. Baby steps at a time, right, Arts?"

Behind his dark-rimmed glasses, the technical advisor gave her a cheeky wink. He's not hitting on her, is he? "Atta, girl."

Huh.

"Alright," I declare, clapping my hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

As everybody shuffle back to their respective desks to pack up or whatsoever, I head over to double-check on my e-mail with a nagging feeling at the back of my mind, like something's missing. Blindly scrolling through the page, I run through the agenda for today's meeting again, in case I've forgotten an important detail, but it doesn't really matter, though. Finn and Rachel have already left, and Tina's on the way out of the door, so whatever it is, I'll probably have to remember to tell them tomorrow.

"Hey."

I avert my eyes away from the screen, and she's standing next to me, a tentative smile on her angelic face. "Hi, Quinn."

"Listen, I was just wondering if you'd want to go grab a bite in a bit. I could use some nice Mexican," she says, leaning against the desk.

I swivel the chair around to properly face her. "Quinn Fabray, are you asking me out?"

She rolls her eyes, and I'm just glad she's not taking offence of the fact that I'm flirting with her. Even though we're 'just friends' now—mentally cringing at the prospect—I reckon there's no harm in that, right?

"I'm just hungry, and I want to properly thank you for what you did." Her tone is light, but I can sense an alternate intention behind her words.

"You don't owe me anything, Quinn."

I hear a sound in the background, a deliberate movement to catch my attention, and I turn to see Artie and Mike saluting us goodbye as they make their way out of the room, leaving the place with just Quinn and I.

"Sam, I don't want things to be weird between us," she tells me earnestly. "And I was thinking we can start on Operation Dream Catcher today. I have a few theories that we can probably try to figure out how everything works."

"Operation Dream Catcher?"

She shrugs her shoulders in that uncanny way of hers. "I thought it sounds cool."

"Are you sure about this, Quinn?"

"Sam…"

"Quinn…"

She holds my gaze for a while, probably gauging my intentions, before reluctantly heaving a sigh. "Just let me help you, Evans."

"On one condition."

Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, she says, "what?"

"We get Chinese take-out."

"Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 6.50pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

"Are you excited for the case?" Rachel asks me as we make our back towards the campus grounds after having dinner at Burger Bar, and just to keep things clear, we aren't on a date—that should be a crime. She was hungry, and I'm always hungry, so I figure, why not? It's not like I need to participate in anything; she talks enough for the both of us.

"Uh-huh," I nod in reply, but all I'm thinking about is Quinn, and the weird four-way vibe that I had gotten during the session just now.

That's right; I've noticed all the secretive knowing glances going on with Sam, Artie and Mike, and when the truth was finally uncovered about the whole Psychic Medium thing, I suppose I can't say that some part of me doesn't feel betrayed because I do, but Rachel was wigging out and I don't want to appear like a loser in front of the girl I'm crushing on, so I just tried to chill out. Inside, though, I'm just confused as hell. I need to start researching on this Clairvoyance shit, and then maybe it'll give me an upper hand with Quinn.

Rachel sees it as a hindrance, an added burden to the team—she's been making her annoyance apparent throughout the entire meal—and even though she has her own reasons, I'm determined to look at this situation in a different light. Quinn's special; so what?

"What are you hoping to find from Sunday's investigation?" she continues. "I mean, do you think there's anything paranormal in that house?"

"Sure, I suppose that photograph speaks for itself," I say.

"It's a small house, though. I don't think we need the full team in there," Rachel muses to herself. "What do you think it is? An intelligent haunting? Perhaps a—hey, isn't that Brittany?"

She's grabbing on my arm, her nails digging into my skin, and it hurts some, so I quickly pull away before she does some more damage. Rubbing the sore spot, I look towards the direction she's pointing to, squinting into the distance because I've never actually met the girl before. We're nearing the Social Sciences block, where there's some kind of Botany Park for students to hang or whatever. It's totally empty, though, but right smack in the middle, I see this chick—long, blonde hair—sitting on a picnic blanket with a basket and some food laid out for two. The only thing is she's alone.

"What is she doing?" I wonder out loud.

"I don't know," Rachel half-shouts and half-whispers. "Why don't we go over and see?"

I'm looking at her like she's completely nuts. "Do we have to?"

"Yes, we do," she insists, her bossy tone resurfacing. "Come on."

We walk over, and as we come closer, it becomes somewhat more obvious that she's not expecting anybody with her because she's halfway done with her food—not to mention that opened bottle of wine—but there's a pair of everything. My hyper-sensitive nose picks up on the New York cheesecake, and even though I'm just done with dinner, I suppose there's always room left for dessert.

"Hey, Brittany!" Rachel greets chirpily, a huge grin on her face.

Whoa, she's hot!

"Hi, Rachel," she responds, and it reminds me of a cartoon character. Brittany notices me straight away. "Who are you?"

"I'm Finn," I introduce, extending my hand out for her to take. She hesitates for a while but accepts it anyway.

"That's an odd name," she remarks in all seriousness. "Do you have a tail too?"

Rachel snickers and tries to hide her amusement, but I'm just standing there, confused. What the fuck does she mean by that? I can't tell if she's kidding or not because of the blankness in her expression. "What are you talking about?"

"Candice thinks your hair resembles a tail more than a Finn."

My hand automatically reaches up to touch my perfectly-styled do and it seems fine with me. Not a strand out of place. "What—"

"Oh, Candice is here!" Rachel enthusiasts. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to barge in on this…this—" she glances at me for help, but yeah, right; like I'm the smoothest dude around. "Gathering," she finally settles at that. "It's a great evening out, isn't it?"

"We're waiting for it to rain, actually," Brittany tells us, and again, I'm not sure if she's joking or not.

"Really?" Rachel asks.

"Yeah," the blonde replies. "We're going to re-enact a scene from that movie, The Notepad."

The fuck?

"Do you mean The Notebook?"

Brittany gasps, appalled. "Are you accusing me of lying to you?"

"Oh, no, no, no!" Rachel quickly defends herself. "It's just, the movie's called 'The Notebook'."

"What movie?"

"The one that—oh, never mind. Brittany, do you mind if I—we—speak to you in private? Without Candice around?"

I watch as the other girl glances over like she's silently consulting with somebody in front of her, and I've never seen anything so bizarre in my life because it feels like I'm babysitting my little sister all over again. "I agree, but she asked nicely." After an apologetic shrug, Brittany turns her attention back to us. "You have five minutes, go."

"Okay," Rachel scrambles to sit down on the blanket, and I follow suit. "Well, I just want to ask you a few questions. Brit, can I call you that?"

"No, you can't."

"Right, okay," Rachel proceeds, clasping her hands together. My eyes wander to the food, and I get an urge to take a bite of the cake. It looks delicious. "Earlier, when we had lunch together, I can't help but feel that you're a really special person. I mean, you mentioned that only special people can see Candice, so I'm just wondering if there are any other people that you can see that others can't?"

"I'm not a superhero, Rachel."

Oh, dear Lord.

"Sure, sure, that's fair enough. I just want to know…does Candice have any other friends? Do you know if she hangs out with anybody else?"

Brittany's eyes widen, her mouth hanging open. "Did you see her with someone else? Is she cheating on me?"

"No, no!" Rachel waves her hands wildly in the air. "I can't even see her, but since you're so close to her, I'd just like to know if she has other friends."

That seems to calm the blonde down a little. "Well, she doesn't talk much about her life, but I know that she has a mutual enemy and hates it when I go back home to visit during the term breaks."

Huh, interesting.

"You're from Pennsylvania, right?" I ask.

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. "How do you know that?"

"Oh, you mentioned it to me during lunch," Rachel jumps in to save my ass. "Why doesn't Candice like it when you go home?"

"I don't know; she wouldn't tell me."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 7.15pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Is your roommate gay?"

I almost snort at Quinn's blunt question, but I'm glad I don't or I'll end up with Lo Mein in my nose, and that would just be disgusting. Nodding my head, I quickly swallow the food in my mouth before replying, "very much so. His boyfriend, Kurt, comes around quite often."

"Oh, that explains it, then," she says, and then daintily takes a sip of water.

Trying to appear as nonchalant as possible—and not think of the fact that Quinn Fabray is in my fucking bedroom—I set my place down on the makeshift table between us and wipe the sauce off my mouth with a napkin. "Explains what?"

She quirks her right brow. "The bowtie."

I'm chuckling because I almost don't notice it anymore. "He has a whole drawer dedicated to his collection and it makes you wonder just how many bowties does a dude need?"

"I think it's cute."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she shrugs, expertly handling her noodles with a pair of wooden chopsticks, looking effortless as I clumsily fail to balance mine between my fingers. "It's unique."

"He has that whole Broadway-musical thing down too," I tell her, spearing the chicken in a totally unconventional non-Chinese sort of way. "Sometimes they'll keep me awake with their rendition of Wicked or Rocky Horror—"

"I love Wicked," Quinn reveals with a sly smirk. "It's my favorite musical of all time."

"Oh, yeah?"

She shifts her food around the plate for a bit, looking embarrassed for a moment. "There's something about Elphaba that relates to me."

"Apart from all your graphic novels?"

Instead of feeling violated at my invasion of her privacy—like I assume she's going to be—she actually laughs, a sweet sound that I can definitely get used to. "I'm impressed you didn't call them 'comic books'."

"That would've been an insult to me too," I chuckle.

It's not long until we realize that we're done with dinner, and that she's actually here for a bigger purpose. She helps me clean up—stopping by to have a quick chat with Blaine in the living room—before we're both back to sitting on opposite ends of my single-sized bed, staring down at the sheets and wondering what's next. The awkwardness in the situation defies any other that I've been through in my life—and I've been through way too many to count—and I'm raking my brains for anything to lift the mood up a bit. She's nervous as hell, I can definitely tell by the way she's gnawing on her bottom lip and fidgeting with her clothes.

"So, what now?"

She tucks her legs neatly underneath her and lifts her eyes up to look at me, the uncertainty etched in her otherwise flawless features. "Okay, so I've sort of come up with a few theories and suggestions that we can try out, but you have to let me know if you're uncomfortable with them, and we'll stop."

"Quinn, I trust you," I say, taking hold of her soft hands. The contact makes my heart jump in my chest and at the moment, I'm not sure who's more nervous. "We're in this together, remember?"

I see her visibly swallow, and then she takes a deep breath to regain her composure. Then, in a soothing tone, she says, "I want you to close your eyes and focus on your dream; try to identify as many details as possible—a location, a distinct feature on his face—anything that might be able to help us figure this out."

"Okay," I murmur, shutting my eyelids and reminding myself to regulate my breathing. I feel the warmth from her palms, her thumbs rubbing circles on the back of my hands, and I'm trying to ignore it because it's sort of ruining any chances of concentration. My forehead creases from the effort, and I guess she realizes it because she stops her movement to the point where she's now barely grazing my skin.

"Take your time."

It's pitch black but her voice brings a light in the far distance of a horizon; a yellowish illuminating ball rolling towards me, and I know that's where it starts. The dream has always been the same, and I'm anticipating it, for that floating orb to finally come closer but it doesn't. It just stops all of a sudden, suspended in the air, so I wait. I'm willing for it to move, to go ahead and just get on with the rest of the stuff, but everything's frozen.

"It's not happening," I mumble in slight frustration.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm doing as you say," I explain to her, keeping my eyes shut. "I'm picturing the dream in my head but I can't. Nothing's happening."

"Okay, why don't we start over?" she suggests. "Open your eyes."

Obliging to her request lands me staring into the molten pools of her striking hazel eyes, and all of a sudden I'm caught in the mysteriously beautiful haunting that lies within. It draws me in like an oasis in the middle of a desert, sending a shiver down my spine. I blink away and wet my lips, the intensity rather overwhelming as I cough to cover up for my weakness.

"Are you okay?" she asks in worry. "Do we need to stop?"

"No, I want to continue," I tell her. "I just need a second."

"Something's blocking me from reading you, Sam," she reveals. "You need to open up."

What the hell does that even mean?

"I—I don't know what you're talking about."

"Keep your mind and your soul wide open, and don't hold back. I'm not going to judge you, Sam," she promises. With her in such proximity, I can smell her perfume and she gives my hands a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "Relax."

Inhaling a lungful of air, I hold it in for a couple of seconds before puffing my cheeks out and exhaling through my mouth. And then I close my eyes again, and I'm back to the stark darkness. I try not to think of anything else, taking Quinn's advice to empty out whatever's clouding my head. The soaring sphere returns as easily as before, but all I'm focusing on is my breathing. I pretend not to expect what comes next, and I suppose I'm fooling myself well enough to keep the ball rolling, watching as it approaches and then disappears in mere seconds. I know I'm not falling, but I feel the plunge into the abyss; thrown down into a bottomless pit where I eventually resurface, gasping for air as I struggle against the rushing current of the river to keep afloat.

And then I see him.

Standing.

Waiting in the shadows.

I'm desperately grasping for a passing log, but it's too far out of my reach and I find myself reaching out for the man, pleading for him to help me.

He doesn't.

"Sam! Sam! Sam!"

Sputtering and wheezing, I'm being hauled back into the present, met with the fearful look of Quinn Fabray staring back at me, my face cradled in her palms. Taking gulps of precious oxygen, my eyes dart from side to side in search of my bearings. I'm still on my bed, in my room, but what the hell just happened?

"Quinn…"

"Oh, thank God," she whispers, pushing the damp hair from my forehead. Am I sweating?

"What—"

"I saw the river," she burbles excitedly. "I saw the fireball, and then I saw the river. Is that it?"

"Did you see the man?" I croak, my throat seeming like I've just swallowed a bucket of sand.

"What man?"

"The man," I repeat with more emphasis. "I saw him. Did you?"

Her beautiful face falls, the disappointment washing over. "No, I didn't. I lost you at the river."

"Alright, fine, let's try again."

Just as I'm about to close my eyes, however, she stops me. "Wait, do you think this is a good idea? You were pretty out of it just now."

My eyebrows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"Sam, you weren't breathing, almost like you were drowning in the river," she informs me. "I had to snap you out of it before you turn purple."

"I—I didn't realize it."

"Maybe this it too dangerous—"

"No, I want to do this," I blurt out. "I want this to end. I want to find out what the man wants from me, and I want it to go away. I'll risk it, and I'll do it over and over again if I have to, but I'm not going to force you to do anything that you're not comfortable with."

"I don't want you to be hurt," she says quietly.

"I'll be fine," I firmly reassure her. "I've been having this dream my whole life. I think I'll survive."

Quinn nods her head wordlessly and once again takes my hands in hers, our fingers interlacing in a perfect fit, and for the third time, I'm conjuring up the same scenario in my head. It never skips; the scene doesn't fast forward, so time and again, I find myself reliving the exact moments. Back in the river, I'm floating on a piece of rotten wood—a door; paint chipped and weathered with age—and I turn to the banks, but the man's no longer there. I'm not even aware of where the tide's taking me because he's not there.

It's never happened before.

"He's gone."

"What?"

"He's gone," I repeat. "I don't see him anymore."

"Were you still in the river?" she questions, looking mildly panicked. "Because I couldn't see you past that."

"I was floating on a door."

"A door?" Before I can reply, though, she's crawling over to the nightstand to retrieve a post-it and a pen. "We need to write this down. If there's an inconsistency in the dream, we need to know why. Has this happened before?"

I'm raking through my brains, recalling as much as I can. "No, it's always been the same."

She's biting on the tip of the stationery, and then starts listing more stuff down. "Maybe the message has changed?"

"How?"

"I don't know. That's what we're trying to find out, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Phew! That was a rather long ride. Anyway, so yeah, they're finally getting to it and trying to figure things out. Wonder how it'll turn out next :P Anybody noticed the parallel line endings for Rachel and Sam's POV? Hehe!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! I know this chapter is really slow, but I'm pacing myself with two stories (well, actually three, but…) and I'd like to thank you for being so patient with me, for reading and reviewing my chapters as well! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous update, and there's more Rachel and Brittany stuff in this one, so that part might get interesting too :D Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**DeGleesi:** Hello! No worries on not reviewing; you don't have to apologize for anything. I'm guilty of that sometimes too, but thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad you liked the update! I love your questions, and I promise you they'll be answered one way or another. There's a ton more Fabrevans in this chapter, so hopefully that's fine, LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Fabrevansgleek:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it :D

**Gleeothfriends90210cccjsAMD:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, as always! I truly appreciate it! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**FabrevansOTP:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like how I portray Sam. I mean, I try to make sure he doesn't sound like a lovesick puppy because that would be too pathetic. Besides, he's the leader of the team, so I can't afford to make him look like a wuss, LOL! I'm glad you liked the ending! I was debating with myself about that, wondering if it's too clichéd, but then I suppose it suits the situation. Hehe! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: **Apologies for the wait! I got hung up on work and it's sort of taking up on my writing time. The downside to being a graphic designer…oh, well!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 24**

**Saturday, 8.45am**

**/Sam Evans**

There's a sound.

A faint, but fairly irritating ringing in the distance that jolts me out of my slumber.

Groaning, I feel the warmth of the sunlight streaming into the room, creating a stove on my face, and I try to turn away when I feel a weight on my chest, holding me down. Soft and supple, I can't help but find the blanketed intrusion somewhat inviting as a sweet scent wafts into my nose, and it feels so good, I don't ever want to wake up, because for what seems like the first time in forever, it's been a pleasant and dreamless sleep.

Until whatever it is starts stirring on top of me.

That's not right.

And then it makes a noise, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh.

That's definitely not right.

Slowly—reluctantly—I crack open an eyelid to peer down at the object lying over my body, only to see a patch of blonde hair, intriguing me enough to fully glance down to a sleeping form of Quinn Fabray as she's nuzzling her face into my shoulder, her tiny fingers clutching onto the fabric of my shirt, and I don't think I've ever seen anything so ethereal in my life. The morning filters in to softly kiss her porcelain cheeks and I wonder if she can hear my heartbeat speeding up.

Fuck, she's perfect.

Having her in my arms felt like home.

As I'm rudely staring at her gorgeous features—entranced by her endless beauty, and itching to shift the bangs that are hiding her long lashes—a million thoughts are racing through my mind. I recall the events that had occurred the previous night—how we were messing around with a bunch of ways to try and recreate my dream in totality, only to end up in a heap of disappointment and frustration. Each time we had thought that we were getting closer, it seems like something else is pulling everything further apart. In the end, we were left with sparse bits and pieces that aren't making sense. I suppose somewhere in the middle of the night, we just fell asleep.

The ringing is starting all over again, and it's sort of getting on my nerves.

Moving as discreetly as possible so as not to wake her up, I gently lift her off of me so that I can go hunt down the fucking noise. Swiftly hopping out of bed—momentarily rejoicing in the fact that my clumsiness hasn't made its appearance—I take a quick glimpse over my shoulders to ensure that my sudden movement hasn't disturbed Quinn, and then start tracking down the damn thing. I trace it back to the satchel on my swivel chair, and instantly realize it has to be Quinn's cellphone. Digging into the contents, I eventually locate the putrid device—let's just say I'm not the most tech savvy person around—and the name flashing on the screen looks like its screaming at me.

The Satan.

But then I reckon that she's probably just worried about her best friend, and I suppose I should go wake Quinn up to answer the call before Santana hires the SWAT team or another for a search party. Plopping down on the edge of the bed, I ponder over it for a second, muffling the sound of the phone with my hand as I try and figure out if there's a certain type of protocol to this. Gingerly, I hover my fingers over her waist before making a quick decision to tap her shoulder instead. That ought to be friendship-approved, right?

"Quinn," I quietly call out so as not to startle her. "Quinn, you need to wake up. Santana's on the phone."

"What—"

"Santana's on the phone," I repeat a little urgently this time.

She doesn't process it at first, but I watch on as it dawns on her and she springs upright. "Shit!" she exclaims, her hazel eyes wide as she snatches the device from me. "Hello? San—yeah, I'm fine—no, I'm sorry I should've—no, I didn't! I swear—" Swinging her legs to the floor, Quinn stands up and starts pacing around the room while I'm just sitting there awkwardly, thinking if I'm supposed to make myself scarce.

"I told you, San—okay, okay, I'm sorry—what? My mom? Why would she—huh." Quinn turns to face me then, planting one hand on her hip and rolling her eyeballs in that adorable way. "Fine, I'll call her later, but I'll probably be back late tonight—oh, for crying out loud, San—wait, who's that? Who—you have a guy in the apartment?" she shrieks, losing her calm and throwing her hands up in the air, and I'm chuckling at her cute antics. "It's that dude from the café, isn't it? I can't believe you—"

My stomach makes a disgustingly and embarrassingly loud rumble, which fortunately for me, Quinn doesn't notice, so I take that as my cue to go make breakfast.

"Where am I?"

She pauses, and then whirls around, shooting me a pleading look. When I fail to reply with an appropriate remark, she jams the heel of her palm against her forehead. I give a deliberate cough, hoping it'll be useful somehow, but she just glares right back.

"Sam! We're out of eggs this morning, so I'm just going to have a quick run to the corner store. Do you and Quinn need anything?"

Fucking hell!

Of all God-forsaken circumstances, why had Blaine chosen this one to ruin?

Quinn looks mortified.

Shit, that's not good.

"No, thanks, Blaine; we're good," I yell back, keeping my eyes locked onto the blonde girl in my room as I shrug apologetically.

That's going to set off a ticking bomb.

And then I'm hearing a flurry of Spanish as Quinn cringes and shoves the phone a couple of inches away from her ear. The meaning to her words is completely lost to me because the extent of the language only came to the measly use of '¿Cómo estás?'. English was hard enough in high school to cope with, especially given my dyslexia; I couldn't be bothered with anything else.

Quinn is tapping on her foot, impatiently waiting for the other end of the line to be done with it, and I take that opportunity head out into the kitchen to go fix something to eat. I don't want to be in the middle of a roommate feud, more so when I'd probably just end up receiving the wrath of one Santana Lopez. As I rummage through the cupboards, all I can find are piles of junk food—which is extremely weird since Blaine's so conscious of his health—and a box of Fruit Loops. It's not exactly the best way to feed a guest, so I continue digging through the refrigerator. There's a box of fresh blueberries and two cartons of milk, some carrot and celery sticks, and I'm thinking the least I can do is attempt some homemade pancakes.

I start pulling out the main ingredients—flour, baking powder, sugar, salt and milk—when I realize we're missing out on eggs. Okay, so I'll just have to wait till Blaine returns from the grocery store. Quinn comes out of the room looking like she's just been through a war, and I decide I ought to be a good host and offer her a drink.

"Hey, Quinn, would you like some coffee?" I ask as she sits on the high stool across the center island.

She nods. "Yeah, thanks."

Retrieving two cups from the cabinet, I set them on the counter and start brewing the pot. "Listen, I'm sorry about Blaine earlier. I hope nothing went down south with Santana."

"No, it's fine," Quinn assures me with a wave of her hand. "She's just a little overprotective of me sometimes but she means no harm." Leaning her elbows on the surface, she asks, "how did you sleep last night? Did the man in your dreams return?"

"Actually, no, he didn't," I inform her regretfully. "In fact, I didn't dream of anything last night." Choosing not to tell her about our sleeping positions, I say, "do you think it's some kind of sign? Like perhaps the person just lost interest and disappeared?"

Her forehead creases in confusion. "That's really odd. Maybe he realizes we were after him and doesn't want to be discovered."

"Maybe."

The coffee's done, so I pour the fresh brew into the two mugs and hand one over to Quinn.

"Thanks," she says, smiling, before she takes a tentative sip. "Oh, jeez, do you have some sugar to go with this?"

Whoops.

Sometimes I forget that I'm possibly the only one in the world who takes my coffee black and bitter. It's actually a good kick to the senses. I pass the can of sugar to her and watch as she douses three teaspoons into her drink. "Either way, if he returns or something, just let me know and we'll try to figure it out."

"Yeah, sure."

Blaine enters the apartment just then, a paper bag in his arms and a roll of newspaper in another. A big grin spreads across his face the moment he sees Quinn and I.

"Good morning, you two," he greets in a sing-song way. "How was your night?"

"A little rough," Quinn replies in a nonchalant manner, unaware of what she had just said.

Blaine quirks an eyebrow, trying his best to conceal his amusement and I shoot him a warning glare. He smirks in response and places the groceries on the countertop.

"Dude, you've got the eggs?" I ask.

"Yeah, why? Are you making pancakes?" he snickers, like it's a morning-after joke.

Rolling my eyes, I reply, "yes, I am."

"Are you sure? The last time you did, you ended up setting off the fire alarm."

I hear Quinn giggling in her seat and feel my face heating up in embarrassment because it's sort of true. In my defense, though, I had received a phone call from my mom, which was sort of a distraction because she kept going on about my paranormal career, and I had to constantly reassure her that I'm not living with a demon in my apartment. It's hilarious, really.

"Fine," I huff. "Why don't you do us the honors then, Mr. Culinary Major?"

Well, he's actually in the Food Sciences department, but it's close enough to a chef in this school. To my dismay, Quinn actually looks impressed.

"You're studying to be a chef?" she inquires.

Blaine shrugs his shoulders as he fishes out the rest of the items that he's purchased alongside the eggs. "Not exactly," he explains. "Culinary is just one expect of Food Sciences. I'm more into exploring the chemistry of food, like preservatives and nutrient contents and stuff."

If he isn't gay, I would actually be worried.

He proceeds with the batter, and even adds in the blueberries as we strike up random conversation, and the topic of today's walk-through surfaces.

"Oh, shit, what time is it?" Quinn asks, frantically glancing at the clock on the wall. "Nine-twenty? Damn it, I better head back and change or I'll be late!"

"Late for what?" Blaine wonders out loud, pouring some batter into a heated pan.

"The meeting," I tell him as Quinn hops off the stool and sprints into my bedroom. I rationalize that she hasn't driven her car over, and that it's going to take a while to walk back to her place, so she'll probably be late anyways. "Hey, look, don't rush, okay," I say to her as she rushes to collect her belongings. Placing my hands on her shoulders to stop her from leaving the room, I present her with an alternative suggestion. "Stay for a while, have some breakfast. Blaine's pancakes are to die for. I'll go freshen up and change, and then I'll drive you over to your apartment so that you won't need to walk across to the headquarters to get your car."

She takes a moment to think about it.

"Or if you like, you can take a shower here. I think I've got a couple of clothes to spare," I continue. "They might be a bit too big on you, though but—"

"I'm not exactly a fan of oversized shirts or sweatpants," she frowns, and I panic for a second—afraid that I might've said something stupid to offend her or something—until she cracks a smile. "But I'll take you up on Blaine's blueberry pancakes."

"Cool."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 10.05am<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

The morning soap opera sucks like a rotten egg in a Spanish telenovela, and I'm so tempted to haul my remote at the screen because there's absolutely nothing entertaining on TV anymore. My cereal's getting soggy but I'm too lazy to get up from the fucking sofa, and instead I sink deeper into the leather material and torture my poor eyes with twisted clichéd plotlines. I'm almost regretting kicking Puck out of the apartment now, but he totally deserved it after that stunt he tried to pull when I was on the phone with Quinn. I won't even get into the details of it.

My ears perk up at the sound of the door clicking, and I know it's not Puck because I'm pretty sure I've made it really clear for him to fuck off till I come around to calling him again.

So it can only be one person.

"Quinn?" I yell out.

"Hey, San."

"Hi, Santana," a second, very familiar voice joins in.

Whirling around, I notice Sam standing awkwardly in the doorway, his hands jammed in his pockets, looking like a sheepish schoolboy. I glare at him, wishing it'll blow his head up because no matter what Quinn told me on the phone, I'm quite a master at deciphering the male hormones and their ever pathetic attempts at hiding their true emotions. She quickly heads straight for her bedroom without offering any sort of explanation, but that only heightens my suspicion.

"What did you do to her?" I hiss, stalking up to Fishy Lips, still looking lost at the entrance.

He holds up both hands in surrender. "I didn't do anything, I swear."

"You better not," I warn, stabbing my finger into his muscular chest. "Now what's this bullshit about a walk-through?"

"It's like a pre-amp before an investigation," he explains in all calmness.

I'm going to fucking kill him.

"You're pulling her in for an investigation? Are you retarded?"

He notices my disapproving tone—he'd be a total idiot not to—and backs up a bit, practically out into the corridor. "Look, I didn't—"

"You saw what happened the last time she went for it and—"

"She was alone, Santana," he argues, and if I'm not fucking mad at him, I'll probably be impressed by his ballsy attitude. "This time she's coming with us again, as a group, but I'm not letting her in on the actual investigation."

Good try, Lover Boy.

"_Tu eres está loco_! Are you expecting me to fucking believe that piece of crap?" I snap at him because I know my best friend and she's always so damn stubborn about what she wants. No offence, but Sam's whipped. He's got _cero_ chance of surviving Quinn's puppy dog eyes.

"What? It's true, okay," he insists. My God, he's so naïve. "I told Quinn she'll only be able to help Artie out at command central so she won't be participating in the main investigation."

Whatever that means.

I narrow my eyes intimidatingly at him. "You are aware that this is dangerous to her, aren't you?"

"Yeah, and I told her so but she's adamant on coming with."

Of course she is.

Unbelievable.

"And you're still allowing this?"

"Look, she'll be fine, alright. It's just a walk-through. Tomorrow's the actual investigation so you'll have plenty of time to change her mind if you want to." He takes a deep breath. "I agree with you one hundred percent; I care about Quinn and damn it, I absolutely do not want a repeat of the previous time."

I stare at his face for a little longer, wondering if he's fucking aware of what he's saying, but I know he's one of those dudes whose actions are louder than his words—if the night of Quinn's fever is of any indication—and no matter how much of an eye candy Beiber Junior is, I know his good looks stretches further than the surface. He stayed the night and never left her side, for goodness sake, so I suppose I can cut him some slack.

Not before I give him a piece of my mind.

"I'm counting on you here, Sam. I don't know why, I must be fucking out of my mind, but I trust you," I solemnly tell him, and I'm already wondering if there's marijuana in my breakfast. Maybe it's just way too early to be up. "Don't abuse that or I swear you'll find a size seven shoved up your asshole so far up I'll see to it that you're chaperoned to the hospital in an ambulance. Do I make myself clear?"

He swallows hard, terror in my eyes and silently nods his head.

"Good," I sneer. "Want some breakfast?"

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 11.20am<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Shit, shit, shit! Sam is so going to grill my ass!

Tardiness isn't something he tolerates because it's not professional, and usually, I'm quite on time—give or take ten minutes—but my alarm hadn't gone off today for some reason, which explains me driving like a maniac towards the headquarters. I could've ran—it's not like my dorm's too far away—but sweating like a pig in front of Quinn isn't the most ideal way to start the day.

I don't even bother parking the car properly before I'm speed walking—again, no running allowed—down the corridors and entering the room to find everybody preparing to leave. Sam gives me a stern look and everyone else just mirrors his expression. Rubbing the back of my neck, I offer an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I'm late," I tell them with an embarrassed shrug. "Couldn't find my wallet."

Sam knows me enough to see through that lie, and he rolls his eyes. "Just grab what you need and go."

As they begin filing out of the room, I hurriedly snatch up a notebook and a pen and scramble out after the team, falling into step next to the subject of my dreams last night. I suppose that's probably one reason why I hadn't wanted to wake up this morning. She glances up at me—her eyes holding no malice or disappointment—and smiles, and I'm thinking what a refreshing thing it is to have somebody who doesn't judge you.

"Hey, Quinn."

"Hi, Finn."

"How was your night?" I ask, deciding to make small talk. Sneaking a quick glimpse ahead, I spy Sam talking to Mike up front, and I reckon it's safe to finally make my move on her. "Did you sleep well?"

"It was…okay, I suppose," she replies, and I sense a hint of uncertainty in her tone.

"Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head. "No, not at all. I'm just a little nervous about this walk-through."

Oh, well, frankly, I don't blame her for that. If I've got a shit-load of wackiness up my alley that I have no freaking clue about, I'd be scared out of my ass. Quinn's tough to actually come back for more, but everybody's fascinated with the paranormal for a reason. I've done a bit of research last night about Psychic Mediums because that whole thing with Brittany was just too weird, and I've come to a conclusion that the best way to go round figuring out her abilities is to experience them.

"Well, I'm sure you'll be fine, Quinn," I tell her sincerely. "The walk-through isn't as exciting as the actual investigation, but at least you'll get to learn how we work."

"Yeah, I suppose you're—" She stops short and whirls around, glancing down at the empty corridor. "Did you—I just heard someone call my name."

"What?" We're the last ones in the group, so I'm positive that nobody else is behind us. "Are you sure? Maybe someone in front—"

"No, never mind," she says, brushing it off. "It's probably nothing. Maybe it's just the wind."

"Are you sure? I can go check it for you if you want—"

"No, no, I'm fine, really."

"Hey, you two! What are you doing? Hustle up!" Sam's voice echoes through the hallway.

I'm about to open my mouth to inform my team leader about Quinn's situation when I feel her small fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me. She looks up at me with pleading eyes, and it's taking all of me to get a grip and not melt into a puddle of mush. I feel my palms clamming up again as my heart is thudding in my chest. God, can't a guy catch a break around here? Just when I thought I've left the schoolboy hormones back in high school, it all comes crashing back like a mess of puberty.

She heads straight for Sam's car as he's assisting Mike with Artie, and I feel a pang of jealousy. What's with Evans and running all my stoplights? Just when I think Quinn and I are finally advancing somewhere, he swoops out of the blue and steals her without even trying. I don't have time to think about that now because Rachel's glaring at me as she and Tina stand by my Subaru. Her impatience can be so damn annoying sometimes.

It's just a short ten-minute drive to our usual breakfast joint, but to me, it feels like forever. I keep playing the possibilities in my head, wondering it I had been a tad bit too forward in my approach earlier on, but I don't believe so. Quinn had seemed quite at ease with me before she had thought she heard someone call her name. Could it have been something that her psychic abilities had picked up on?

In the backseat, Rachel is yapping away about the psychological aspect of an imaginary friend, and I'm sure Tina is just obediently listening in. I've long trained myself to tune her out but maybe at the point of time, a girl's point of view can be helpful.

"Hey, girls, can I ask you two a question?"

"Shoot," Tina says.

"Do you think Quinn likes me?"

There's a moment of silence, enough to make me look up at their reflections in the rearview mirror, where I'm met with two very different expressions. Rachel has her brows furrowed in partial skepticism, like I'm mental or something, and Tina just looks amused.

Eventually, though, Rachel breaks the stillness. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," I shrug, keeping my eyes on the road. "It's just—Quinn's absolutely gorgeous, and only a blind person can't see that, and I like her, you know. She's special, and I'm wondering if she likes me too. What do you girls think?"

"Well…I don't know, Finn…" Tina trails off. "Define 'like'."

"Whether or not she might have some feelings for me? I seem to think that there's an attraction between us, but I'm not sure," I tell them. "I used to think that there's something going on with her and Sam, but at one point they weren't on speaking terms, and now I think that they're just friends, so I just need an opinion on this. Should I make a move?"

"I don't see why not," Tina comments. "If there's nothing going on between her and Sam, I think you should go for it."

"Really?"

"Of course!" she chirps back.

"What do you think, Rachel?"

"I don't think it's a good idea."

Party pooper.

Cocking my head to one side, I ask, "why not?"

"Have you thought of the aftermath? What if you pour your heart out to her and she doesn't feel the same about you? What, then? Don't you think it's going to be awkward in the group?" Rachel rationalizes, and yeah, I suppose she has a point. "Have you thought about how it's going to affect your performance during an investigation? We've already gone through a mess with Sam, and it turned the whole group upside down. I just don't want to see a repeat of that. It's not fair for the rest of us who actually work hard to be here."

Ouch.

That's a jab to my ego because I'm sure she's taking a hit on my punctuality earlier on. I decide not to comment on the fact that despite my shady record, I'm still a rather more experienced investigator than she is. I've been with Project Paranormal eight months longer than she has, so I suppose I warrant a few brownie points.

Pulling up at the diner, I see that Artie's already wheeling himself in as Quinn graciously holds the door open for him, and involuntarily a smile spreads across my face. She notices the three of us climbing out of the vehicle and waits for us to enter the restaurant.

"Thanks," I softly say.

"No problem."

Sam gets a booth big enough to accommodate all seven of us, and I make sure to get a seat right next to Quinn, who's unfortunately situated beside my team leader. All of us pretty much starving—I know I am—we instantly pick up the menus and start deciding on what to eat.

"What are you getting?" I bend over a little to ask Quinn.

"I'm not sure," she murmurs, skimming through the page. "Any recommendations?"

"The triple sausage is really good," I tell her. "Oh, you have to try the barbecue steak as well. It's amazing."

She snickers for a bit. "Barbecue steak? For lunch?"

"Get the smoked mozzarella burger," Sam cuts in. "It's not as unhealthy as it sounds because the bacon's not deep fried. I know how much you like to douse your chips with salt, and this place makes the best basket of fries you can ever imagine."

Huh.

How the hell does he know what sort of food she likes, anyway?

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"

Motherfucker. You have got to be kidding me.

"Yup," he says, popping the last syllable.

"Do they make the best ketchup as well?"

It's like an inside joke, and they're grinning at each other and exchanging knowing looks. I dart my eyes over at the rest of the group, wondering if they're witnessing this as well, but Rachel's still intensely studying the menu as though she's going to be quizzed on it. Tina's talking to Mike and Artie, discussing on what kind of milkshake to get, and none of them are actually paying attention to me or whatever's going on with Sam and Quinn. Just as I'm about to intervene, the waitress arrives with a notepad.

"Hi, what can I get for you youngsters?" she asks, pulling a pen from between her left ear.

We each have a go at placing our orders, and unsurprisingly, Quinn follows through with Sam's suggestion, so I settle for the barbecue steak anyways. I might as well, since I have nothing to lose anyway. At least I don't look like a wuss eating a measly grilled Reuben without Swiss cheese. Who does that, right?

"Alright, so here's the rundown," Sam declares after the waitress leaves the table. "My aim is to be at our location before two. When we're there, I want Tina and Artie with me for the interview and walk-through of the hotspots in the house. While we're in there, Mike and Quinn, you two take a baseline E.M.F reading surrounding the house. Finn and Rachel, I want the both of you to do the same inside. Cover every corner of the place and take note of high K2 hits. When we get back, Artie will draw up a flat plan, and Quinn, you're going to assist him in positioning our equipment. The rest of you us will do technical maintenance."

I hate it, mainly because I always end up doing something stupid.

"Any questions?"

Rachel, of course, shoots her hand up in the air.

"Yes, Rachel?" Sam acknowledges.

"How long do you estimate us being there?" she asks.

"I want us back before sunset," he informs us, and then checks his wristwatch. "So that gives us a solid three hours to work. I don't think that's a problem, right?"

There's a chorus of agreements to his proposition, and as if on cue, the same waitress returns with our drinks and I eagerly take a nice long sip of my jumbo banana-and-chocolate milkshake. From my peripheral view, I notice Quinn eyeing the size of my drink.

"Would you like to try some?" I ask, offering the straw towards her.

"No, thanks," she answers. "Can you honestly finish that?"

I puff my chest out proudly, because this is the one accomplishment that I'm not afraid to admit. "I broke the record for finishing the ultra-jumbo yoghurt milkshake last year."

"That must've been one hell of a poop fest afterwards," she giggles, and I suppose in a way, she's impressed. After all, not many guys can say that they've achieved something like that. It's an alpha male trait.

"He stunk up the entire dorm," Artie snickers. "We had to spray a million air fresheners in there to rid it of the stench."

That was totally unnecessary, Abrams.

"Shut up."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Alright, so this is sort of like a filler chapter. Nothing's going on at the moment, it's all nice and good, so hopefully the group gets a short break before the fun starts. Hopefully you guys have enjoyed this easy read! :D

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! As always, I really appreciate your time! Glad you liked it!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! Thank you so much for constantly reading and reviewing my story time and again! I truly appreciate your time and your comments! I know you probably expect the investigation to begin, but I sort of thought it'll be a nice break to give the characters—a sort of breathing space in the story—before they move on with a case. :D Hope you've enjoyed the update!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so very much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm flattered that you're keeping track of so many things! LOL! The Tom situation will be revisited in the later chapters, because, like what Sam (or was it Rachel) said, the evidence is inconclusive and there's nothing concrete to present to the client. I know Judy has yet to figure out that her daughter's actually in Project Paranormal, but there's a mention of it in this chapter, so it'll definitely be revisited. At this moment, I'm putting a breathing space in the story, which is why this chapter feels like a filler, but I've added some Fabrevans into the mix, so hopefully that's good :D

**FabrevansOTP:** Hello there! Awww…thank you so much for staying up and sacrificing your bedtime to read my previous update! I truly appreciate it! So, did you end up dreaming of Sam and Quinn? ;p I'm glad to know that I'm doing each character justice. There was a point of time where this story had a conflict of interest in one of the characters and it sort of blew up, so I'm happy that you're enjoying it so far! I love diving into Sam's head because he's just so genuine with his feelings towards Quinn and he can't help it :D Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! As usual, thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I truly appreciate it! LOL! Yeah, maybe Finn does have a thing for blondes ;P

**Overgron'sLilLamb:** Hello there! Welcome to the story! It's always nice to meet new readers :D Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! Well, I hope you're not reading this at night, because I surely avoid writing this at night or I'd end up scaring myself. LOL! I'm glad you like the story so far! Cheers!


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **An update! This one's sort of fun, too!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 25**

**Saturday, 1.35pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"I feel like we're missing something crucial," Quinn muses out loud, breaking the silence in the car as she tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "I think what we're looking for is deeper than the surface conscience."

I have no fucking clue what she's just uttered, but it's like an unspoken understanding between us, and throughout the journey to the case site, the pressing topic hasn't once been mentioned—although it's been brewing in my head all the while—until now. Frankly, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that something's changed in my dreams.

The optimistic—or naïve—part of me is choosing to believe that perhaps we've triggered an 'off' switch and maybe the dude's gone for good. It's the only way to explain why no matter how many different methods we've tried last night, I couldn't seem to recreate the same dream I've been having almost my entire life. I've been so familiar with it, in fact, I'm stunned it doesn't just play like clockwork. I haven't gotten to the pessimistic side yet, but right now, nothing else makes sense.

Keeping my eyes peeled on the road ahead, I scrunch my forehead in confusion. "What do you mean?" I ask.

"It doesn't add up," Quinn diplomatically tells me. "We tapped into your conscience mind and you tried to conjure up the dream sequence in your head. At the same time, you were projecting those images to me, and I picked them up without a problem, but we kept getting different readings. So then, we thought perhaps the dreams changed because certain variables are beyond our control—"

"Right, like, perhaps I was subconsciously thinking of something else and it affects everything," I chime in.

She nods, even though technically—under normal circumstances—it defies some kind of logic as we know it. "That's correct. So then I asked you to just blank your mind and let the dream run on its own, and that wasn't any good either. I mean, we did everything possible; we tried to drift into your inner conscience with the half-asleep method where your brain is still awake and alert, and it still doesn't work. And then we had a connection failure, where I couldn't read you at all—"

"So we decided to just go to sleep and see what happens," I finish for her, the previous night's events neatly summarized in a packaged bow. Now that it's being put in such a perspective, I'm wondering if I'm in one of those sci-fi movies. "That, unfortunately, didn't work because I ended up not dreaming at all."

We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, processing everything, and it's all too confusing at the moment, I'm still wondering if this is real. It's weird, because I investigate the paranormal, so this shouldn't puzzle me so much but it does.

"Can I try something?" Quinn quietly asks.

"Yeah, sure."

Before I know it, I feel her soft lips grazing the side of my cheek, and I suck in my breath at the unexpected contact. It takes all I have to ensure that I don't drive off the road. The kiss is quick and gentle, like the soft caress of a feather, before she's pulling away. Stealing a glimpse over, I notice her pensive expression as she turns to stare out at the rolling streets.

"Are you okay?"

"It didn't work."

"Erm…sorry?"

She sighs, tired and slightly defeated. "Do you remember when I told you I felt that man when I kissed you?"

I nod, and it doesn't take much to put two and two together. "Oh."

"Well, I just figured it didn't hurt—"

My fingers are gripping so tightly on the steering wheel, my knuckles are practically turning white. "Or, you know, maybe we should—"

"You think so?"

And then we're back to the silence. I realize it's becoming a habit with us, but certain things just didn't need to be spoken out loud. Perhaps it has something to do with her Psychic/Empath abilities, though I prefer to believe we're at this point in our friendship where we're simply able to understand each other perfectly. However, now that the idea's been planted in my head, I can't seem to quit playing around with the possibilities.

Maybe. Just maybe.

"How does that work?" I question out loud.

Honestly, I'm not hoping for an answer because I'm sure it won't be of much help either.

Quinn shrugs her delicate shoulders in that adorable manner and starts gnawing on her lower lip. "Maybe it's one of those unexplained Psychic thing?" she guesses. "You know how some Psychics are able to see a person's past and their futures? I could've accidentally triggered something in you that allows me to see into your dream."

As crazy as that sounds, it's probably the best that we've got.

I see a mailbox up front, and when I'm sure that it's the correct address, I turn into the small path that leads me down a narrow driveway before coming to a clearing, where a nice typical three-floored Victorian house sits in the midst of tall, neatly-aligned trees. Parking the car and killing the engine, I don't make an attempt to get out just yet.

"How do you come up with all that stuff?"

"I wanted to be a psychologist, remember?" she smiles, the hint of sadness in her tone. "When I'd initially started hearing things and sensing stuff that I'm not supposed to, I thought I was crazy. I couldn't tell my mom without worrying if she's going to throw me in a nut house, so I began searching for answers on my own. I've always felt there ought to be a logical explanation for what I've been experiencing, and it was then when I started getting interested in the study of the human mind."

"I think you'd be an amazing psychologist, Quinn."

She stares at me for a moment. "Thank you," she whispers softly before looking away to open the door and hop out of the vehicle, and I'm left with gazing at the empty spot, wondering just how big of a mystery her life is to me.

I can't help but lament on the fact that I'll probably never fully know this girl. Granted, I've only known her for a total of six days, but I want to find out more. She intrigues me like nothing else on this universe can. The galaxy and the Milky Way—even the paranormal—hold little significance next to Quinn Fabray, and that actually scares me. For the first time in my life, somebody is filling this void in my heart that I never knew I had, but I can't do anything about it. Even the spirits and ghosts can't terrify me as much as I do right now, and it's making me vulnerable.

"Sam."

Jolting out of my reverie, I glance out of the windshield to acknowledge whoever had just called my name, but none of my team members are even paying any attention to me, which I suppose is pretty damn weird.

Automatically, my investigative mode kicks in and the first thing I try to do is rationalize what I had heard. Of course, my first instinct would be one of the guys, but I quickly realize that my windows are all rolled-up. If anybody were to actually yell at me right now, even from a short distance, it would appear rather muffled. The voice that I had heard, however, felt like low a murmur—practically a growl—right next to my ear.

"Sam."

"Jesus."

Holy shit.

This time, I'm absolutely positive that nobody from my group is calling out to me. My eyes are glued to the six people outside and not a single one of them are addressing me in any way. Taking deep breaths to keep my composure, I clear my throat and try to swallow the huge lump that's suddenly lodged in there. I've heard EVPs before; I've heard disembodied voices yelling into my ear, but never one that seems so personal, almost like it knows me, and it's tripping me out.

"What the fuck?" I breathe.

Quinn—as though sensing something's amiss—turns away from the group just then and notices that I'm still in the driver's seat, and waves her hands in the air to jerk me out of my trance. Upon realizing that I'm the only person left who has yet to join the group, I rush to unbuckle my seatbelt, jogging up to my team.

"Are you alright?" Quinn murmurs, the concern clear in her kind features.

I force a smile for her, and I know it's not going to work on a person with higher abilities, so eventually, I say, "I'll tell you about it afterwards."

Thankfully, she understands enough not to protest, which is just as well because everybody else is looking expectantly at me for further instructions. Squaring my frame, I immediately take on the leadership role and authoritatively face my crew.

"Alright guys, so Artie, Tina and I are going to head in to talk to the client while the rest of you get the equipment ready. We'll be back in a bit," I inform them, and then proceed to walk up the steps to the front porch. Tina presses on the doorbell, and after a couple of seconds, the door cracks open to reveal a bubbly-looking teenage girl with a brightly-adorned outfit and copper-colored hair.

"Hi there, you guys must be from Project Paranormal," she greets, gracing us with a smile. Extending her hand out to me, she says, "I'm Sugar Motta."

"I'm Sam," I tell her, accepting her gesture before introducing the two people flanking me. "These are my fellow investigators, Tina and Artie."

"Nice to meet you, and thank you so much for coming," she gushes, her words coming out in a tumble. "Oh, gosh, I'm so glad you came because the shit is creepy as hell, and I need to know if there's anything dangerous in the house, and no offense, Artie, but your gloves are kind of tacky and it doesn't match that totally outdated sweater vest."

I don't know whether to be amused or appalled at her sudden change in topic and incredibly brutal honesty, but Artie seems unaffected by her comments—or maybe it's in his nature as a mild Empath—and just smirks back at her.

"So I've been told," he says with an impish wink.

That son of a gun.

Loudly clearing my throat, I try to bring them back to the pressing topic at hand. "Sugar, can you give us a run-down on the paranormal stuff that's been going on in this house?"

"Yeah, sure!" she chirps. "Why don't we go inside?"

"Oh, before that, can I get the rest of my team to do a quick EMF sweep of the house?" I inquire, since it's only right to ask for permission first before going round poking into the property. "We just need a baseline reading of the premise so we know what to look out for and what to rule out when we investigate tomorrow night."

"Sure," she says. "Knock yourselves out, but please be careful with the roses. They're a bitch to plant and you guys aren't exactly pretty enough to compensate for it."

The awkward pause that follows can be subtitled by a bunch of crickets, and it's one of those situations where you have no fucking idea how to respond to that.

Turning around, I give Mike a thumbs-up before heading in after Sugar. We get into the living room, and Artie and Tina immediately pull out their writing materials to take down the specific notes.

"This is the living room," Sugar explains, gesturing to the space. "This is where most of the activity takes place, usually after the sun sets. Sorry, but has anyone ever told you how huge your mouth is?"

Quickly pursing said lips together, I exchange a look with Tina, but she's apparently having the best time in her life. "All the time," I reluctantly mumble in reply. "But…erm…let's get back to the paranormal stuff. What usually happens in here?"

"Tons, like you wouldn't believe."

"Oh, trust me, we would."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 3.50pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

I've been getting constant, fairly low readings on the KII-meter and it doesn't seem like there's any dangerously high levels of electromagnetic field surrounding the outer premise of the house. To ease the load on the both of us, Quinn and I have decided to split up and each cover a side of the property, which would help cut the task time in half.

The garden's sort of huge, and it's going to take a while—especially when there are rose bushes to dodge and gnomes to avoid—and although there aren't much around that can give off any sort of EMF, there's always a possibility of a fuse box, given how I've come to notice that the house is located in a rather quiet area. I'm just assuming there's a back-up generator or something because I've yet to find the electricity cables. Judging by the rows of trees, the land looks like a plantation back in the ages. It would also explain why anybody would build a home so far off the main road. There's nothing relatively odd about the air, and even though the sun is beating down overhead, the trees provide for some shelter.

As I'm keeping my eyes on the device in my hand, the second light starts going off, and when I start shifting it around, it climbs up to a steady reading, and I reckon I've found the source.

There's a crunching of footsteps and I turn to see Quinn walking up to me, taking tentative steps to ensure that nothing precious gets trampled on because the place is just crawling with knick-knacks. Also, the makeshift stone pavements are rather uneven, and I've nearly tripped and fallen a couple of times.

"The EMF in the area's quite flat," she reports, coming up beside me. Her eyebrows shoot up at the new discovery. "Well, I guess you've found the sweet spot then."

I chuckle in reply, glad that she seems comfortable with this walk-through. I suppose out of everything in an investigation, this is actually the easy part, but then again, Quinn's a sort of psychic, so nothing paranormal is at all a stroll in the park for her. "Yeah, I have a feeling the fuse box is on the other side."

She nods. "Sure, we should make a note and remember to ask Artie about it. In fact, I'm sure Rachel or Finn have probably figured it out."

"Alright, well, let's get back then—"

Quinn suddenly whips her head around, her eyes wide as she darts them in all directions.

My brows furrow in concern. "What's wrong?" I ask.

She shakes her head, but the alertness doesn't cease in her gaze. "I thought I—never mind."

"Okay, then, we probably should head back," I suggest, studying her face for any signs of fear or panic. With her sensitivity, you just don't know what to expect. Sure, it's always a good thing to go into an investigation with a neutral mind and a scientific perspective, but I suppose there's some credibility to Quinn's abilities, and if there's something off in the environment, it's good to know.

I mean, don't' get me wrong, I'd like to see myself as a level-headed investigator, but I'm also Asian Chinese, and there's no doubt about where my roots lie. Despite my rather western upbringing, I still have parents who are uptight and superstitious about the oriental culture. My mother redecorates the house once every fortnight for good Feng Shui and to chase away bad omen or some sort—whatever that means—and it's not exactly scientifically proven, so I suppose I've surrounded myself with enough weirdness to embrace this one.

"Good idea."

As we're walking back to the driveway, I decide to pop the question that's been jumping about in my head, igniting my curiosity about the paranormal all over again. "I haven't gotten round to asking you, Quinn; what actually happened that night?"

Her nose crinkles in that unique way of hers. "What are you referring to exactly?"

I tilt my head to face her. "You know what I'm talking about."

She gives me this mischievous and secretive smile, and I take it as a good sign to press on with the topic. "I'm just interested. What does it feel like to see the other side?"

"It's terrifying."

Pausing in my step, I move to stand directly in front of her, planting my hands on her petite shoulders and staring at her clouded features. There's a hint of frustration beneath all the happiness she portrays on the surface, and I can't imagine how difficult it has to be on her to be so vulnerable to the unexplained forces in the world. It's something I probably won't ever experience in my lifetime, so I reckon the only thing I can do is offer her my support.

Gently, I pull her in for a hug, and without hesitation, I feel her arms wrap around my waist as she rests her cheek on my shoulder. There's nothing to say at the moment. From the first day Quinn had come up to me for my research documents on the South Oak Mansion case, I know we've established an odd friendship.

"I'm sorry I asked," I murmur.

"No, I'm glad you did. It means that you believe me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" After all, if it's something she doesn't want to discuss, I don't want to force her into it.

She seems to be gathering her thoughts, and I'm about to tell her to forget it when she speaks up. "It's like watching a movie—a play-by-play of her entire life right in front of me. There's always been something Jane wants to say, but she can't because Harley is still keeping her hostage. After all the years, she's still trapped in that house, and it's like all the energy rushes back and hits me in the chest. It was awful, and God, as much as I try to leave, I just couldn't."

"It must've been traumatic for you."

"I just can't imagine how much more traumatic it must've been for her."

I can't either.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

We pull apart to see Finn standing there in front of us with his arms folded across his chest, looking really pissed off, and I realize that what's transcending between me and Quinn doesn't look good.

"Nothing," I blurt out, coughing to cover up for the awkwardness. "Are you guys done with the baseline sweep?"

"Yeah," Finn practically growls.

"Alright, then, we should—"

"Go," Quinn finishes for me before scampering off, and I so badly want to escape Finn's death glare but he stops me shortly after.

"What are you trying to do, Chang?" he spits out.

"Chill out, Hudson," I tell him, holding my hands up in surrender. "I don't like her like that."

"You better fucking not."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 5.15pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Back in the headquarters, I'm thrown with the task of technical maintenance, which can range from a whole lot of stuff, such as, cleaning the lens on all of the video cameras, and according to Artie, scratching it would lead to a shit load of consequences. Let's just say I'm not the gentlest handler around.

"You're going to burn a hole through the glass if you keep going that."

I snap out of it to see Tina gesturing down to the object that I'm holding in my hand. Glancing down, I realize that I'm making furious circular motions with the cleaning cloth, and she's probably right about that; I might end up cracking the lens.

"Oh, fuck," I mutter under my breath, immediately stopping what I'm doing.

Tina gives me a concerned look. "Are you okay?" she asks, and it irks me a bit that I can detect a hint of pity.

"Yeah, of course," I tell her, hoping the macho thing works. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She doesn't answer me; just shrugs and continues with her task of labeling the tapes and the battery packs. I take that as a cue to give myself a short break, which brings my attention to Quinn and Artie. They're seated at the bigger table, papers and markers scattered all around, and they're both discussing about camera placements, but I can't help but think the chap is sitting a little too close to her.

What is it with dudes flirting with her today?

Well, apparently, Sam doesn't seem to mind much because he's doing his job like nothing's bothering him, and I'm just finding this situation kind of weird. I'm glad Mike is minding his own business, after that stunt he tried to pull with Quinn back at the location earlier on.

"Finn, are you done with those?"

Rachel comes and blocks my view from the two, and I sigh up at her, hoping I look as peeved as I feel inside. "Yes, Rachel?"

"Are you done?" she repeats, pointing down at the video cameras on the table. "I need to test the IR functions."

"No, only those two are done," I inform her.

"You're kidding me," she deadpans. "You're just cleaning the lens, Finn, not polishing it with wax."

"Just take them and go, okay."

With a huff, she grabs the necessary equipment and saunters off, but not before shooting a disapproving glare my way. Rolling my eyes, I fix the cloth between my fingers and progress on with my task. Eventually, my gaze drifts back to Quinn and Artie, and I'm just willing for them to hurry up and finish already because I'm getting kind of hungry. Sam strolls over after a while, all-authoritative and glances over their shoulders to inspect the work. As they're explaining all the different stuff, he nods and grins at all the appropriate places. I watch as he gives Quinn a couple of pats on her shoulder, and I reckon he shouldn't be granted that privilege anymore, regardless of whether they're friends or not. It should be a touch-free zone. And then our team leader gathers us for a de-briefing before tomorrow's actual investigation.

"Alright, guys," Sam announces, taking stage in the middle of the room. "The technical flat plan is ready, so Artie's going to run through it so that you know your roles for the set-up tomorrow."

Our technical manager wheels his way towards the center and gives Quinn a signal to flash the drawings up on the overhead projector. I've done the internal baseline sweep of the house, so I can pretty much envision the floor plan in totality. Including the basement, we have four levels to cover for tomorrow's investigation, and from the way Sugar's described the amount of paranormal phenomenon, there's activity practically everywhere.

"Okay, so as you guys can see, we're setting two IR cameras in the living room, here and here because our client claims to have photo frames flying off the walls, and that spot right there is where she's seen the shadow figure…"

After that, I sort of tune out his voice because I realize, as I'm staring at Quinn, it becomes a bit difficult to concentrate on anything else. I guess she senses it and glances over, giving me a small polite smile before turning her attention back to Artie. My stomach makes a low rumbling, and my anatomic clock is telling me that it's chow time. I'm thinking of fried chicken and pepperoni pizza, when all of a sudden, I feel a nudge on my side.

"What is it, Rach?" I hiss.

"Finn, are you paying attention?" Artie snaps at me, shoving his glasses higher up his nose. "I just mentioned that you're in charge of fixing the thermal imaging camera in the child's room because it needs to go high up at the corner."

Simple enough.

He could've at least given me a challenge.

"Got it."

"Do you need to note it down somewhere?" Quinn asks with a slight quirk of her eyebrow, and I actually like this investigative side of her. "You sure you'll be able to remember it all?"

"Of course," I confidently tell her. "I've got a great memory. It's all up in my noodle."

Rachel snorts, "yeah, right."

"Okay, moving on," Sam cuts in before things start to get out of control.

I give her the universal finger, but she just slaps it away as Artie goes on allocating the specific jobs. Apparently, another thermal goes down at the basement, where Sugar has claimed to experience cold spots, and Artie decides to go ahead and add in a passive infrared motion sensor as well as an IR thermometer.

Just when I'm sure we're running out of equipment to set up around the house, Artie wraps it up and hands the floor back to Sam. There's a sudden movement in my peripheral vision and I turn to see Quinn squinting out of the window. Curious as to what had peeked her interest, I follow her line of sight but all I see is a tree in front of a brick wall. It's odd enough, I suppose; maybe I can ask her about it during dinner, which of course, I have yet to invite her to.

"So, I'll see you guys here at three tomorrow," Sam concludes. And then, looking pointedly at me, he adds, "don't be late."

Yeah, whatever. Pick on the big guy, why don't you?

He dismisses the team, and I'm about to walk over to Quinn when Rachel stops me. She's starting to be a major pest in my life. "Can I help you?"

She puts one fist on her hip and shifts her weight to one leg. "I still need the rest of the video cameras. Are you done with them yet?"

Oh, shit.

"Erm…no—"

"Damn it, Finn, how difficult is it?" she flares up, stomping her foot impatiently. "I've got tons of things to do, alright, so why don't you get your ass in gear and finish up what you have to in ten minutes, or so God help me, I will destroy you."

An angry Rachel Berry is actually very frightening, especially when she gets up in your face and corners you like a predator. "Okay, fine, but let me just—"

"Ten minutes, Hudson," she seethes, and then spins around and storms off.

The moment I turn back to go talk to Quinn, I find her occupied with Artie as they pack up all the necessary stuff. When I see that they're about done and I see Artie rolling up the floor plan, I reckon it's the perfect time to make my move. However, just as I'm prepping myself to intervene—oh, big word, there—Sam swoops in and sidles up beside her.

Oh, come on.

I observe with narrowed eyes as he casually rests his hand on the small of her back, and that's all it takes for me. After all the shit since the beginning of the morning, I'm not letting this one get to me, so I square my shoulders and try to appear as aloof as possible.

"Hey, Quinn," I call out.

She lifts her head up to meet my gaze. "Yes, Finn?"

"I'm heading out for dinner after this. Would you like to join me?" The words stumble out in a rush, and I don't think the nonchalant act is working very well. Better yet, as a psychic person, she probably sees through it.

She pauses for a bit and I notice Sam discreetly whisper something in her ear. I have half the heart to roll my eyes at the moment because it's starting to really piss me off right about now. I'm very sure Quinn is able to make her own decisions, thank you very much, Mr. Team Leader. To her credit, though, Quinn actually looks genuinely apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Finn, I can't," she tells me, and I'm certain she's regretful. "But thanks for the offer. Maybe some other time, yeah?"

Even though I've expected that, it doesn't make the rejection any softer.

"Oh, sure."

And then Rachel bursts the bubble.

"Finn, you're left with five minutes!"

Damn it!

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, things are starting to happen with Sam and Quinn. Could it possibly be something paranormal? Is it just part of Quinn's psychic abilities? Or is it something else? Hmm…hehe! Okay, so just to let you guys know, I've actually written a bit of the next chapter, and it's not going to be as long as this one, but it's going to have awesome Fabrevans in it! So excited!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! LOL! I'm glad you liked the last part about the poop, and Finn being in denial. Hehe! I suppose Santana's always going to be overprotective of Quinn, it's just she has a different way of showing it :D I guess the storm is now brewing…not a full-fledged hurricane or something, but something's about to happen in the next chapter! Both Sam and Quinn are hearing things now, so we'll just have to wait and see what it is, won't we? :P

**FabrevansOTP:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving wonderful comments! I really enjoyed writing that bit with Quinn sleeping on top of Sam, and I'm glad you've liked it! I'm happy that you like Santana's character! She's such an interesting person, and I really hope to do her justice. I'm pulling Finn as the sort-of delusional character, you know, where he's convinced that he'll get Quinn, even though you and I both know that's not going to happen. Hehe! Dianna and 6 piglets sounds adorable! She's such a doll with animals! :D

**Alli2345:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you like how I portray each character, even though they're not exactly like their characters in the show. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, like you've never failed to do everytime! I really appreciate it! Hope you've liked this chapter!

**DeGleesi:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you're loved the previous chapter! I've really enjoyed writing the Fabrevans scenes, so I'm glad that you liked them! Regarding Santana's "You are crazy" line in Spanish, well, she does think Sam's crazy for allowing Quinn on board the investigation, so it's sort of like a kind of scolding to him. LOL! Perhaps I should stop attempting Spanish, since I took up French in school, hehe! Thank you for the note! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Gleeothfriends90210cccjsAMD:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! LOL! Yes, definitely Sam! The investigation would probably only happen in chapter 27—from what I've planned so far—but chapter 26 is going to focus more on Sam and Quinn :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hi there! It's good to see—hear from—you! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! You don't have to apologize for anything :D I'm glad to know that you've enjoyed Finn's POV (even though, yeah, he annoys me to no end), as well as Blaine's short cameo with the blueberry pancakes. Santana's such an amazing character, which makes paying attention to detail a bit higher since she doesn't do cheesy at all. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Jamber111:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I truly appreciate your wonderful comments! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**QuamFabrevansshipper4ever:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm really flattered that you've stayed up all night to read my story! I gets me all warm and tingly inside :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Guest:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you've enjoyed this story thus far! Awwwww…and I'm really flattered by your wonderful comments! It's always nice to contribute to such a wonderful fandom! Fabrevans is my OTP! Hahaha!


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **Hey! Okay, so this is rather a short one but…

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 26**

**Saturday, 6.50pm**

**/Sam Evans**

There's a small corner shop over by the dorms, which is where Quinn and I decide to go get our dinner since we're both on a pretty tight budget. Technically, I've resorted to scavenging my room for loose change, so I'm actually dead broke, but the scraps are enough to get me a hot pocket and a bottle of soda. I just hope Blaine has some leftovers in the fridge. Quinn settles for a cold chicken sandwich and some mineral water.

"Are you sure you don't want a pack of salt to go with that?" I tease as we make a beeline for the cashier, remembering her love for sodium chloride.

She playfully narrows her hazel eyes, peering down at the food in my hands. "Are you sure you haven't forgotten your ketchup?" she quips.

"Touché," I chuckle back at her.

The guy behind the counter rings up our purchases, and Quinn looks amused as I start piling up the dimes and the quarters for the person to count. He scowls at me, clearly pissed off at the extra effort, and I can tell that Quinn's trying to hold back her laughter. There's probably a queue behind me by now, but I'm too embarrassed to verify. Eventually, the dude gives me a grunt of approval, and after heating my food up in the provided microwave, we're now left standing awkwardly outside the store, neither one of us knowing exactly where to go.

"Should we go back to your apartment?" I hesitantly suggest, not that I want to face Santana and her icy glare or anything.

Quinn quirks an eyebrow, and she obviously knows my plight. "For real?"

"Okay, no, not really," I admit. "My dorm, then?"

She shifts her feet and seems slightly uncomfortable at the prospect. "Maybe we shouldn't. Blaine probably thinks we're, you know, sleeping together or something, and I don't want him getting any ideas."

Shrugging my shoulders, I say, "but he's gay."

"Yeah, but…" she trails off.

"He probably doesn't care," I go on to add.

Quinn clicks her tongue, and I can see the slight irritation creeping into her features. "I know that. It's just…" She's making these animated gestures with her hands, and honestly, yeah, I know where she's getting at, but I'm not sure why I'm giving her a hard time about it.

"You're right," I tell her with a nod. "Look, I know where we can go, but you've got to promise not to tell anyone about it."

She tilts her head in curiosity. "Please don't tell me that you've got some secret underground lair, or a bat cave," she snickers. "Because if you did, you have a fantastic way of blocking that bit of information from me."

"What?" I scrunch my nose at the absurdity in her assumptions, until something she says starts to register. "Wait, you can tell what I'm thinking?"

"I wish," she scoffs. "But seriously, I can't do that. Sometimes, people unintentionally projects images into my mind; it's sort of complicated, actually. Right now, however, I can tell that you just want to swim inside my head and see what I see."

Quinn hits that right on the target. "That's correct."

"And if you're going to bring me to that observatory, I suggest you make sure the door isn't locked first."

Holy shit.

Holy _fucking_ shit.

"The telescope thing was a giveaway," she smirks, but then there's flicker of emotion across her face and I suppose she is picking up on my thoughts, because a sort of melancholic smile graces her rosy lips. "And if you're wondering, I'd trade it all away in a heartbeat if it'll let me be a normal, ordinary person."

"You were never ordinary to me, Quinn," I inform her honestly. "Even way before I knew about your abilities, I always thought you were exceptional, and I guess that's what makes me like you even more."

I'm aware that we're steering away from that friendship path right now, and frankly, I don't give a damn. She gazes up at me, her cheeks flushed underneath the fluorescent lights as the afternoon sun gives way to the dark of night, and my hot pocket is getting cold, but I want her to know just how special she is to me.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"At this moment, you're like the coolest girl in the world," I say, grinning like an idiot. "You're like the female Professor X."

She giggles, and I don't think I'll ever get sick of hearing it. "Except that I'm not a high-level telepath."

"Well, you could be Jean Grey—"

Quinn cuts me off just then, holding a finger up to silence me as she swivels her head from left to right, her posture turning rigid and alarmed. Instantly, my protective side kicks in because maybe she's picked up on something, and I begin glancing around in search for anything that's amiss. "What's wrong?"

"No—nothing—I just—I've been," she pauses to take a deep breath. "Let's get out of here."

I'm about to open my mouth and ask her once more, when all of a sudden I feel her fingers weaving to intertwine with mine—cool and slightly trembling—and I'm probably too stunned to react, but then she's tugging on my hand and leading the way.

"Quinn, what's—"

"I'll tell you later." Her tone is curt, and I let it slide for now, not wanting to create any further stress upon her.

"Do you even know where you're going?" I gently ask, since it's becoming apparent that she's basically going round in circles.

She halts in her tracks. "No, no I don't, sorry," she murmurs distractedly, flustered, and I reckon whatever is going on has her shaken up, so I keep my grip on her and wordlessly maneuver the both of us through the familiar campus grounds until we make it to the Physics and Astronomy building.

The college is pretty big on the Astrophysics stuff, and they have donors and graduates funding the facilities, on top of the countless number of scholarships the department hands out to geniuses, which also then means that they are the ones who get first priority on any available equipment even though, technically they hold better relevance to the Astronomy students. There's an elevator that takes us up to the observatory, and I pull out my student ID, swiping it across the slot to activate it. Quinn looks impressed, like she's probably hoping to step into the Enterprise or something.

"If you're trying to convey a Star Trek reference, I have to tell you that you're bouncing off Uhura a bit too much in my head for my liking," she says, startling me out of my reverie.

"Sorry," I mutter, feeling my entire face heat up. It's actually getting a tad bit scary how she's doing all of this mind-reading/Empath/psychic thing on me, and catching me totally off guard. Has she always been able to do that?

"No, you're just sending me stronger signals. It's sort of hard to ignore."

"Okay, you have to stop that."

She smirks in that infamously coquettish way and says nothing, just as the door slides open to reveal a long and empty corridor. I've been here after hours a couple of times with some classmates, simply because that's the best period to study the stars and what not, but it has always occurred to me that there's something rather off about the place. Perhaps it's the cold interior—almost to the point of clinical—that reminds me of an abandoned hospital I've once investigated.

"What is this; a military base?" Quinn jokes with a tiny snort. "It looks like a pathology unit."

"It's actually more inviting in the day," I tell her.

We reach the end of the hallway, coming face-to-face with yet another door. I'm not exactly sure what the rationale is behind such decisions, but nothing is ever labeled in the building. It's as if someone just couldn't be bothered, or simply just wanted to establish a maze for the students, but the first week of school had been a nightmare for me because I'm just shit at directions. Of course, it's all muscle memory now; I can probably navigate through this building with my eyes closed, and I have a pretty rough idea on the facilitators and attendees that usually work in here, so I'm positive nobody's in that room at the moment. Still, one can't always be too sure. Pushing down on the door handle, I send a speedy silent prayer up to the heavens, and am pleasantly surprised when it easily opens without a hitch.

"Bingo," I whisper, wagging my eyebrows in Quinn's direction before slipping in and turning on the lights.

"This isn't the observatory," Quinn points out with a frown as she takes in the surroundings. "It's a lecture hall."

That much is obvious.

I take a step towards her and cock my head to one side. "Even I'm not that stupid to sneak into an observatory deck without a valid reason. It's like walking straight into a cop right after robbing a bank."

"I'm glad you know that," Quinn nods in concession.

Making my way down the flights of stairs to the front of the room, I set my food down on the front desk and turn to her with a stupid smile on my face. "Hey, you want to see something cool?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders and hops onto the table. "Maybe."

Disregarding her lack of enthusiasm in my academic field, I stand behind the podium and flip a switch, powering up the projector in an OMNIMAX setting. Dimming the house lights, I remember to mute the volume before allowing the standard solar system documentary to play. Instantly, the dome walls are covered in specks of stars, and in my head, I have the semi-monotonous commentary running like a broken record, but all of that flies out of my mind as I glance over at the blonde girl, sitting with her feet dangling over the edge of the oak desk, her gorgeous hazel eyes lit up and twinkling in wonderment. She's gaping at the spacescape and I stride over to plop myself down next to her. Nonetheless, she doesn't take her eyes off the constellations—totally entranced by the beauty—and I'm so tempted to recite each and every one of them to her.

"This is amazing," she breathes, finally tearing her gaze away to face me.

"Yeah, it sort of is, until you start needing to memorize the coordinates, and then it becomes quite a bitch," I chuckle good-naturedly, reaching out for my hot—now cold—pocket.

"It feels so peaceful."

"I come here sometimes, whenever I'm stumped on something," I tell her. "I don't know. I guess there's something about all that space makes my problems seem small."

She just stares back at me, a tiny smile playing on her lips, looking at me as though it all makes perfect sense to her, and I'm wondering if she's doing the Jedi mind-trick thing again. The patterns of the galaxy dances upon her face, the blue and purple glow reflecting off her golden tresses, and damn it, I don't think I've ever seen anything more breathtaking in my entire life. Somehow or another, my eyes drift down to her succulent lips, and before I can stop it, an image pops into my head.

Shit, shit, shit.

I'm trying to retract it in hopes that she doesn't pick up on anything, although it's probably too late now. The change in her expression gives me enough indication to know that I'm more than screwed.

"No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I blurt out. "I mean, I did, but it wasn't on purpose, I swear, Quinn—"

"Let's just eat."

I'm such a fucking idiot.

Gobbling up my food in five big bites, I wash it down with half the bottle of soda and try as politely as possible to conceal a burp while Quinn takes her time nibbling at her sandwich. The tension is gnawing into my skin and the silence in the air is getting pretty old; I hate it. I don't know about Quinn, but I don't want a memory of my first dinner under the 'stars' with her to be one that's filled with utter discomfort. I suppose I shouldn't be so transparent in my opinions, but eventually one of us has to start talking.

"This afternoon," I begin, clearing my throat. "When we were at the location and I was alone in the car, and then you sort of noticed me; something happened—you knew—and I promised I would tell you about it, right?"

She nods for me to continue.

I inhale in a gulp of air, wishing that what I'm about to say doesn't come off as totally lame because under any normal circumstances—with my experiences as a paranormal investigator—it's going to seem pretty amateurish. Quinn impassively waits for me to collect my thoughts, but truth is, I don't know how to break it to her. My mouth opens and closes, and nothing comes out.

"Okay, so here it is," I say. "I heard a voice—a man—calling my name, and it's not like any disembodied voices I've ever heard. I mean, I've encountered some creepy shit in my life, and I'm familiar with the paranormal, but this is totally different. It's like he's right next to me, clear as day, almost in a commanding tone say 'Sam' twice."

Her brows furrow thoughtfully. "Does the voice sound familiar to you?"

"No, not at all," I tell her, shaking my head. "It was deep and gruff, almost growling at me, and it's just unnerving."

"Was there anything else to it?" she questions, giving this some serious consideration, as though she's deciphering something deep. "Like a hint, or a message? Personally, I think entities don't communicate without a reason, and it could've been something that ties in with the location."

I'm almost wary to ask because I don't want a skewed judgment when I go into the investigation tomorrow, but I just have to know. "Did you sense anything while you were there?"

"A little," she admits, albeit a tad bit too nonchalantly. "I get spurts of weird energy, but nothing very constant."

"What does that mean, then?"

"I don't know," she shrugs again. "It can be anything or nothing at all."

"Oh."

Quinn scrunches her forehead together, suddenly looking concerned. "It didn't sound malicious, did it?"

"No, just…weird."

We sit in silence for a bit, and Quinn continues to finish up her food. I'm staring at the Milky Way that's projecting on the walls, my eyes concentrating on the Orion-Cygnus Arm, and the theory of the Galactic Center automatically filters into my head. It's a good break from the abnormality that's been going on, and I find myself slowly relaxing again.

"Maybe it's the man in your dreams."

"Huh?"

"That voice," she ponders out loud. "Do you suppose it belongs to the man in your dreams?"

"I don't know, Quinn," I mumble weakly. Honestly, I'd just like to think that my mysterious dream sequence has come to an inconclusive end. "Maybe I'm just out of my mind or something."

"That's not possible. You heard the voice calling your name twice."

Point taken.

"Yeah, but right now, it doesn't sound significant to me," I try to rationalize before it starts to blow out of proportions and affect my performance for my job tomorrow. "It could be a one-off thing, and so I don't want to make a big deal out of it and jump to any conclusions. Unless it happens again, I'm just going to file that away under 'unexplained experiences'. I just feel that we're sort of at an impasse with my dream thing."

I'd be lying if I say that the idea of kissing Quinn again—be it for experimental purposes—doesn't entice me. Apart from that creepy voice phenomenon, Quinn's insinuation is perhaps the only other thing that has occupied my mind for the better half of the day. Since the last time I've kissed her—two days ago, to be exact—I can't shake the feeling of her soft and inviting lips on mine out of my head. Sure, I had actually received a hard slap for that—and I think I sort of deserved it—but that few seconds had been explosive, to say the least.

"Should we find out, then?"

"Find out what, exactly?" I ask with a tilt of my head.

"The voice that you've heard," she says. "Maybe we can identify it together. If there's somebody trying to communicate with you, perhaps I can hear it?"

"How?"

"The logic has always been a little hazy, hasn't it?" Quinn smirks.

She's not suggesting what I think she's suggesting, is she?

And then she's reaching out to take my hands, and I can feel the sparks that instantly zap through every nerve ending in my body like blissful currents of electricity. "Close your eyes," she softly instructs, her smooth fingers rubbing soothing circles against my palms. Wordlessly, without hesitation, I oblige to her request.

"Just breathe."

It's a fair enough instruction, but it doesn't exactly spell much for anything, until I feel her plump and tender lips pressing delicately on my rather admittedly oversized ones, and the delicious shiver that courses down my spine is extraordinary. Unable to resist it, I tentatively kiss her back, unsure if she's receptive to my reciprocation. I hear a sigh, and I don't know if it's her, or me but all of a sudden, my fingers are weaving into her soft, blonde hair as she gently kneads the nape of my neck in an appeasing manner, and my head's spinning from the sudden assault to my senses. God, she feels so fucking good.

"Quinn…"

"Sam…"

Breaths mingling, the purpose of the proximity is momentarily forgotten as I lose myself in her gorgeousness, and I can't stop. Heck, I don't want this to ever end. Quinn sidles closer, spreading warmth through my center, and then a blinding white light flashes behind my eyelids. She springs apart, her eyes wide-open, mouth agape.

"Wayne," she gasps.

"What?"

"His name is Wayne."

I nod, even though it registers nothing. "Anything else?"

"No, the connection was lost."

"So maybe we should…re-establish it."

"Yeah, we should."

It doesn't occur to me that she's agreed to it until she's leaning in again, and it stuns me a little just how easily she's going along with this. I take it a step further this time, running my tongue languidly across her partially opened mouth, and then I hear a slight whimper emitting from her throat, stirring something in my crotch. Circling my arms around her petite figure, I draw her into my chest as she grips onto the fabric of my clothes, and I can't think straight. Her sweet scent wafts into my nose and her kisses taste like heaven. And then I can't even tell if we're kissing for the appropriate reasons or not, but the voice of reason has long left my mind, replaced by everything that makes up Quinn Fabray.

"Anything else?" I ask in between gulps of air.

"There's a—there's—"

A face.

The house.

"One forty-two."

Quinn shoves at my shoulders. "You saw that?"

I nod, rubbing between my eyes. "The number on the door?"

"Yeah."

We pause for a moment.

"Should we…erm…continue?"

She runs her fingers across her lips, now crimson and partly swollen, her hair slightly askew, and I can't resist straightening it out for her. "Maybe we should stop," she mutters, glancing down at her feet. "We've managed to gather some new information, and I don't want to jinx it."

"Right." I'm not even going to bother masking my disappointment because I know she's going to sense it anyway, but I don't want to be an asshole and give her the impression that I'm just using her for my benefit, so I crack a smile. "That's probably a good idea."

"So…"

"So…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So…hehe! Now that Quinn and Sam have gotten some clues as to the mystery of the man in Sam's dream, I wonder where it will all lead. Of course, not forgetting the Fabrevans goodness :P Hope you've enjoyed it!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! Always appreciated! Hope you've enjoyed this bit!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! Thank you so much for always reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Finn was such a fun character to write because he's always so delusional when it comes to Quinn! Lol! This chapter doesn't have an investigation, but I'll definitely bring it in the next update—along with what Sam and Quinn has to go through—and I'm sure it's going to be a blast to write as well! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the Sam and Quinn parts in the previous chapter! Hopefully you'll enjoy this one as well!

**FabrevansOTP:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! I'm glad to have helped with the hangover! Sam and Quinn are finally going somewhere—I think it's kind of long overdue now—and they're also slowly unraveling the mystery behind the man in Sam's dream. Yes, Finn is one jealous dude even though he shouldn't be, but as it will ever be (in my stories anyway), Quinn will forever belong to one Mr. Evans :P I appreciate the time my readers take to review, and I think the least I can do is to take time and reply to you guys! :D

**A nadie le importa Babosa:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I'm glad you like how my fanfic is progressing! At the moment, I'm not planning on adding anymore couples, because I just plan on focusing on Fabrevans, but I'm glad you like Santana! She's always an amazing character to play off, and she's able to get away with a lot of comments, so that's actually fun! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **Just a heads up for this chapter. It's not a relatively long one, but before you decide to skip it, I promise you there are some Fabrevans action! Hehe!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 27**

**Saturday, 9.45pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"There are probably a million different 'Wayne's in the world, and a thousand other addresses with the numbers one forty-two on it," Quinn groans in frustration from behind me as she stands, hovering over my shoulders. "No way will we be able to narrow them down."

She's right, of course.

Staring at the list of directories that are popping up on the screen, I try to build a sort of connection to the two clues we've got—three, if you count the face of a man, but it's not like I'm born with eidetic memory, and really, what are the odds of finding him in the billions of people around the world. I mean, what if the guy isn't even alive?

"Sketch it out."

"What?"

She spins on her heel to go rifle around the piles of rubbish on the table, retrieving a drawing pad, a pencil and an eraser. Pulling up a chair, she plops down beside me and starts to diligently illustrate.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Trying to sketch his face out," she replies without glancing up from her task. "Once we have that, it'll be easier to match his face to the names that we've found."

"And then hand it over to the police?" I don't mean to be sarcastic, but this thing has gotten me on edge, and I just want to find out who this dude is, what he wants, and get it over with. "Quinn, we don't have that much access to such personal records."

"But Mike does." She finally pauses enough to fix me with one of her all-knowing, determined look. "He can help us out."

"No, he can't, because we're not going to tell anybody about this. I don't want the rest to know."

She rolls her eyes. "Come on, you can trust Mike."

"I said no, Quinn!"

Startled at my tone, she blinks at me, stunned at my reaction, and damn it, now I feel like a total asshole for yelling at her. I really hadn't meant to lash out like that, especially to her—it's not cool at all—and I know how my anger always amplifies to an Empath, so I take a deep breath to calm down. She still hasn't spoken yet, so I'm just guessing she's absorbing the negative energy, waiting till I'm a bit more stable again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Trailing off, I heave a tired sigh. God, I just want to sleep right now. "I can't risk anybody else in this, alright. There's no telling what the dream means, and we could be going round in circles, and I just can't…"

"I'll see if he can get me a quick security breech," she says, her voice leveled and neutral, the understanding etched in her beautiful features. "I can tell him that it's for an important project."

And seriously, right now, I just want to take her in my arms and kiss her again.

So I do.

It's just a simple 'thank you' peck on her incredibly soft lips, and it's probably not enough, but before I can pull away, she's got a handful of my hair, holding my head in place as she deepens the kiss. Our chairs are sort of in the way but I can't be bothered about it because I'm cradling her cheeks delicately in my palms, and then I realize what she's doing.

Almost instantaneously, the darkness behind my eyelids plays out the whizzing balls of light disappearing before it gets too close, and I'm swept away by the tide again.

It's nothing I haven't seen before.

And then someone is digging, a shovel in his hands, scraping up dirt and soil from what seems like a backyard, and I feel my brows furrow.

"Quinn…"

"Just go with it, Sam."

That face again; now a sharper focus in front of me, in the shadows, silently beckoning me in with his piercing turquoise eyes, and fuck, it's a little freaky.

Quinn and I are still engaged in a lip lock, her moist tongue sliding over, and I can't even begin to explain the thrill that shoots down to my core, bursting like boiling lava waves through every nerve ending in my body. It's the most intense feeling I've ever felt, and all of a sudden, something just takes over.

The same numbers pop up, the golden numerical 'one forty-two'.

Zooming out to the house.

I'm back in the river, grasping onto the door as the tide washes me further down the banks.

"Look down," she whispers, her sweet breath ghosting over me.

There's a peephole on the weathered wood, its paint still intact, and directly beneath it were the mysterious digits in the exact make as before.

Quinn is grinning against my lips. "Let's follow it."

"Hang on."

She does, literally, her arms looping around my neck, and I use that to my advantage. Lifting Quinn off the chair, I prop her up on the desk, shoving the mouse and keyboard aside to accommodate to her. A small squealing gasp emanates from her throat, and I'm so tempted to trail my mouth down the slender slope of her neck, but I'm not sure if it'll break the connection.

Fuck it, I'll just stick to the kissing.

The rushing waters rock the plank, and a mist is starting to form, skewing my view from what lies ahead. I'm squinting; I don't know how, but I do, and it doesn't do a shit because the white vapors thicken to fog. It gets darker real quick, a foreshadowing of something bad.

I brace myself for it, tightening my grip around her waist, my fingers subconsciously delving deeper into her sides, and I hope I'm not hurting her. Worried, I ease up a bit, but then she's tugging on the belt loops of my jeans, and everything else just flies out of the window when her knuckles accidentally brush against my sensitive bulge.

"Quinn…"

"Just keep going."

The door cracks under my weight and abruptly gives way, and I'm falling again.

I'm tugging Quinn closer to me, clinging on to her like a precious lifeline, fusing and molding our lips together in sordid desperation as fear clenches at my chest. The heaviness of the situation, blurring with the heated passion of the moment, makes it impossible for a semblance of coherent thought.

And I'm still falling.

But I don't want it to stop.

"Let it go," her voice softly coaxes. "Just let it go. I'm here to catch you."

She gives me the most tender of all kisses.

My knees buckle beneath me and I hit the ground.

A flash.

A tombstone.

A name.

"Sam!"

Quinn is immediately on the floor next to me, the concern clear in her otherwise flawless hazel eyes, the tears slipping down her porcelain face. There's a searing stab to my heart, my lungs burning as I struggle to gulp in mouthfuls of air. Her hands, trembling and cold, reach out to tilt my chin up, and she chokes back a cry.

"Oh, my God, you're bleeding," she tells me. "Sam, your nose is bleeding."

I run my fingers to the spot above my lips, feeling the warm liquid against my skin, glancing down at the evidence, and not fully comprehending what's going on. "Shit," I groan, scrambling up to my feet in search of some Kleenex.

"Why don't you just sit down?" Quinn instructs, slightly frazzled and terrified. "Look up at the ceiling and hold the bridge of your nose."

I do as she says, and from my peripheral vision, I see her drop her face into the palm of her hands before she takes a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Sam," she quietly murmurs, her expression ridden with guilt. "I shouldn't have pushed you to—"

"Hunters," I grate out, my voice coming out all nasal-like. "Wayne Hunters."

"What?"

"His name is Wayne Hunters."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 11.10pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

Okay, that's it.

Where the hell is this girl?

I swear, if she's out doing some creepy paranormal shit without letting me know again, I'm going to hunt her down and personally drag her back to this apartment by those blonde hair of hers because I can't take another second of this constant nagging in my ears. For God sakes, woman, I'm not your daughter's fucking babysitter. She's a mature adult who is allowed the freedom to have a life.

Personally, it says more about me right now, currently strapped in this situation instead of socializing with the other wildcats at one of those high-brow parties with the people that matter, but that just shows how much I love my girl, Quinn. After all this crap is over, she's going to owe me so much, I'll make sure she installs a pole in her room. She's reducing me to a huge effing bore and it's totally cramping my style and my status.

Giving Judy another grim smile and an obedient nod of my head, I take a quick peek at the clock on the wall and wonder if she's ever going to leave. Don't get me wrong; I respect Quinn's mom as much as I do mine, but damn she doesn't know when to quit, and sure as heck doesn't know how to shut up.

At last, I hear Quinn's dainty footsteps echoing out in the hallway. It's so distinct, there's no denying it, but then I realize that she has no fucking clue of her mother's unexpected and impromptu visit. God, she's going to get a cardiac arrest. Before she comes through that door and starts freaking out, I suppose I should go out there to prep her for the impending World War III. With any luck, she'll have plenty of ammunition and tons more patience.

"Will you excuse me?" I ask Judy politely, and after flashing another sickeningly sweet smile her way, I get up from the couch and head outside.

Quinn stops short the moment she sees me creeping out into the hallway and automatically her eyes narrow in suspicion. Damn her Empath abilities. "Oh, God, what did you do this time?" she deadpans, and motherfucker, what an insult.

"Me?" I retort back, trying to keep my voice down as I plant my fists on my hips. "What about you? Where have you been?"

She pauses for a bit, because yes, she's a fucking terrible liar, if she's even going to attempt it. I can practically see the wheels turning in that pretty little head of hers, and although Quinn is a damn smart cookie, she can be rather lacking in social skills.

"Out."

Is that the best she can do? Dear Lord, please forgive her inability to comprehend the strength of the female species and the power we possess over all that's stupidly male. Plus, I can smell the scent of musky aftershave just reeking from her. Darn dipshit, even my home girl has managed to catch some action, and I'm laming out at home.

"With Sam?" I flatly prod on, already planning the ultimate attack because he had promised me he'd take care of her, and what do I get?

"Yes," she answers slowly, dragging the word out like she doesn't know if it's a statement or a question. "But that's besides the point. What are you doing out here?"

Before I can even open my mouth to pathetically plead my non-existent case, though, she holds a hand up to silence me. Rude much. "No, don't tell me," she says. "I don't want to know. It's been an incredibly long day, and I just want a nice, warm bath."

Quinn reaches for the doorknob, and in a split moment of rare panic, I lunge forward to block her from entering, using my body as a shield.

"No, don't!" I hiss, and I can only imagine how much of a hysterical freak I look like at the moment—like a pothead desperate to escape an ass-crazy rehab—and I guess I've hit rock bottom.

Shocked at my outburst, Quinn retracts her hand, looking officially confused at my bizarre—well, more bizarre than usual, anyway—behavior. Roles now reversed, she gives me that lady cop scrutiny and folds her arms authoritatively across her ample chest. I envy her boobs. Mine looks like two kilotons of water balloons.

"Alright, San, what's really going on?" she asks sternly. "Why are you whispering and why can't I go in there?"

I guess there really is no other way to this.

"Don't be mad, okay?"

God, why can't she be gifted with telepathy instead? Can someone please give her an upgrade?

"Why would I be—do you have a guy over? Oh, God, I swear if Noah is still in there—"

There's a muffled voice coming from inside the apartment—unmistakably an older woman, possibly having a phone conversation with somebody—and Quinn hears it. Her mouth hangs open in disbelief, her hazel orbs widening in perfect circles.

Oh, shit.

Too late to back out now.

"Is that my mom?" she exclaims. "What is she doing here?"

Leaning my ass against the door, I raise both my palms out to try and calm her down. One of us has to be the reasonable on here—I'll take the high road for today; she better not get used to it—or we'll end up waking the entire building. Between my colorful Latina spice and her extremely uptight personality, we'll probably spark an eruption unsalvageable by mankind for the next century or so.

"Okay, look, you hadn't returned home last night and I've mentioned to you that your mom called," I explain to her, reiterating the earlier events. "She demanded to know where you were, and I didn't know what to say. She came knocking on the door two hours ago; forcing me to tell her what the hell is going on with you and how it is that you're involved with Sam Evans, and I tried, okay, but I can't, so I sort of told her everything—"

"You what?" she shrieks, and I almost forget how shrill she sounds. The _mamacita_ is a prude, but hot damn, she's got a set of lungs that I can surely use in bed.

"Zip it, Blondie," I shush her up through gritted teeth. "Your parental unit is driving me insane and I'd be shooting down a Hobo before I go in the front lines again."

"I can't believe you told her!" she remarks, disregarding my mental wellbeing by blatantly ignoring my gentle reminder to be quiet.

"What else was I supposed to do?"

"Lie," she shoots back sarcastically. "Aren't you supposed to be good at that?"

Okay, if she thinks I'm going to take another suicide for her, then I'm in need of an improvement from a pole to a sex swing. And I'll make her purchase it with her credit card, too.

"Lying to your Nazi of a mom is as impossible as sneaking into the Vatican Secret Archives without sleeping with the Swiss Guards—"

"Colorful, as always," she quips.

"She's relentless, alright," I continue in the peak of frustration. "She wasn't going to leave until I tell her exactly what she wanted to hear—"

"That I'm absolutely fine and that there's nothing to worry about—"

"After that incident at South Oak Mansion?"

"That was diff—"

This girl is a fucking masochist.

"Don't, okay," I cut her off again. "Do you know how fucking worried I was? Damn it, I was scared shitless. I care about you, Quinn, and so does your mom, and I don't want to see a repeat of that, especially when you don't even know what's going on with that ability of yours—"

"I'm fine," she stubbornly insists. "Don't you see? Going on investigations allow me to hone and understand those abilities—"

"At what risk, Quinn?" I'm borderline yelling now, and personally I don't give a rat's ass anymore if Judy hears me. "You can't just dive into this without proper knowledge, alright, it's dangerous."

"Look, Sam and I are handling this just fine—"

Handling this? He was supposed to make sure she stays out of this paranormal shit.

That son of a bitch.

"I'm going to kick his sorry ass—"

"What's all the racket out there, Santana?" Judy's maternal voice snaps us out of the argument, her head poking out of the door with a frown on her face. "Quinn? Honey, where have you been? It's a quarter to midnight, and I've been trying to call you all day. What happened to you that night when you called? Why were you asking for Sam Evans?"

At this point in time, Quinn is just dumbstruck, not knowing how to react to the situation, and you would think an Empath would be able to read other people's emotions but she's rubbish with her own.

"Why don't we talk about this inside?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hi guys! I'm sorry for the short chapter, but I suppose it has some relatively adequate substance regarding Sam and the mystery man, so hopefully that sparks just the right amount of curiosity for what's going to happen next. On the side note, though, I've got a story synopsis and outline for another Fabrevans fanfic that I won't start on until either WIME or THA wraps up, but I'm excited to work on the new one soon. Hopefully it'll motivate me to churn out faster updates :D

**Lina. FabrevansOvergronFan:** Hi there, Lina! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my stories! I really appreciate it and I'm glad you've enjoyed them! LOL! I love jealous Finn too, because he's so unreasonable, it's so hilarious to write! No worries, though, I'll be sure to include that in, especially with the investigation coming up next! I know exactly what you mean! Season 3 was pure torture for me, and I had to re-watch the first half of Season 2 three times just to erase all the trauma from my system. Either way, that's probably what spurs writers to create a whole new world for our OTPs! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Lots of Fabrevans goodness! Yum!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! As always, it's a pleasure to write, and you're always so supportive of my work. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm always appreciative of your time and effort! I'm glad you liked the lecture hall scene in the previous chapter. Hopefully you've enjoyed the one in the headquarters just as much too! :P I have actually studied basic Astronomy in school, and I had an ambition to be an Astro-physicist, but alas, I don't have the patience for the academics. LOL! That bit in the previous chapter about the Milky Way are spurts of information from the Internet. I just paraphrased them to fit the story. Hehe! So, I suppose they're getting closer to figuring out whom the man in Sam's dream is, and it'll be quite interesting to see how far they'll push—sexually—to finally uncover the mystery. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**FabrevansOTP:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! Yes, I suppose this update is a lot shorter than the previous one, in fact, but I've jam-packed a whole lot of awesome Fabrevans goodness! LOL! Hopefully you've enjoyed that snippet! I'm glad you liked how Quinn is picking up images from Sam's mind because of how strong their connection is. He can't hide anything from her now :P Yes, so they're uncovering more clues as to the mysterious man in Sam's dream, and I suppose we'll see how far they'll push the boundaries to find what they're looking for! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Alli2345:** Hello! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans goodness in there, and that bit with Sam and his coins. It was sort of inspired by this one time I was in line to check out my groceries and this kid was counting out his money and piling them up, and it was sort of hilarious! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for reading my story and leaving a review! I'm glad you liked my previous chapter! LOL! That was my favorite part too! Needless to say, I had more fun with this update because of all the kissing and making out, and that was just a blast to write! Hope you've enjoyed it! Cheers!


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: **A fast one! Hopefully it'll do for your guys! :D

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 28**

**Sunday, 10.20am**

**/Sam Evans**

The knocking on my door startles me awake. However, before I can even orientate myself, it creaks open and someone barges into the room. Groaning in annoyance, I reach up to rub the sleep out of my eyes, slowly rolling over to peek at the intruder so adamant on robbing me of my peaceful slumber.

"Good morning, sleepy head."

My eyelids spring open as I automatically sit up in bed. "Quinn!"

She's standing at the foot of my bed, arms akimbo with an amused smirk on her fresh face, and instantly, I jump to my feet. She raises her eyebrows, and it's then that I realize I'm just clad in my boxers. Blood whooshing up to my ears, I can feel her burning gaze on me as I scramble to cover up my semi-indecency with a blanket. Oh, God, why does shit like this happen to me?

"Fuck, I'm sorry," I mumble in complete embarrassment.

"That's okay," she replies dismissively, plopping herself down on my mattress.

Struggling to keep my sheets up while I walk towards my wardrobe, I decide to fill the awkward silence. "Erm…how did you get in here?"

"Blaine answered the door," she explains with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "He told me that I could go right in. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"No, it's fine," I assure her, fishing a pair of basketball shorts out of the drawers, and pulling it over my legs. "You didn't interrupt much, anyway."

"Had a good sleep?"

"Yeah. I think the dreams have stopped, you know."

She nods in apprehension. "That's good."

"Hey, you okay?" I ask tentatively, suspecting that something is amiss with her. I mean, Quinn is an Empath/Psychic, but at times, she wears her heart on her sleeves. The moment she glances up and our eyes meet, though, my concerns are confirmed.

"I just needed to get away for a bit," she admits. "Between Santana's ranting about how dangerous it is for me to go on an investigation and my mom trying to convince me to see a psychologist, I think I'd end up in an asylum anyway if those two continue to keep up."

The sirens go off in my head, remembering her firecracker of a roommate's clear warning—or threat, more like it—the day before, and a sinking feeling rattles in the pit of my empty stomach. Shit, she's totally going to kick me in the balls. Sure, I did promise her that I—wait.

Cocking my head to the side, I give her a confused look. "Your mom?"

"She stopped by last night," she conveys miserably with a grimace. "Demanded to know what happened the day I called for you, though I didn't really get a chance to defend myself because apparently, Santana had already filled her in on the dirt. She totally flipped, like, literally jumped-off-the-roof bat-shit crazy when she found out that I had actually gone ahead and did the investigation behind her back. Now, I have two people in my life trying to make sure I stay out of anything even marginally paranormal." Quinn pauses, punctuating her sentence with an indignant scoff. "Like I even have a choice. I didn't wish for this thing to happen, and I can't—urgh—I just want them off my back."

This is an extremely delicate situation—one that I'm not well equipped for—and it's tripping me out a bit—more so because my brain isn't fully functioning at the moment without some caffeine in my system. Lowering myself next to her, I silently ponder on the best approach to this without offending her in any way. Lord knows I can be a dumbass at the most inappropriate of times. As she's staring down at the floor, I take that opportunity to collect my thoughts, studying her perfect form. Even in her lowest point, she looks absolutely stunning. The morning sun filters in through the window, beaming down on her, the rays reflecting off her blonde hair like threads of gold.

"I'm glad you came over."

She doesn't say anything.

"Look, if it's any consolation, they have the right to be worried for you, Quinn," I tell her. "Heck, even I'm worried for you, and I promised Santana I wouldn't let anything bad happen to you, but I respect your wishes enough not to deny you something that I know you really want. In fact, I shouldn't be involving you in this crazy dream thing at all. It kills me inside every time we attempt something because I can't even be sure if you're going to come out of it alive."

Her head snaps up, her gorgeous hazel eyes piercing into me. "Me? Sam, I think I'm putting you in danger here. I'm opening some unknown door, and you saw what happened last night when your nose bled, and I can't help but feel responsible for pushing you—"

"It's a little late for regrets now, don't you think?" I say, quirking my lips into a good-natured smile.

"I'm serious—"

"So am I."

"You're just—"

"Listen," I interrupt her for the third time, shifting my body so that I'm properly facing her. "We can keep playing this blaming game, but when I agreed to this, I was prepared for anything to happen, Quinn. I don't care what kind of danger it's putting me in, as long as you're safe. I don't want to jeopardize your relationship with the two most important people in your life who care deeply about you. If it means that my dreams are left unsolved, then so be it."

She stays quiet for a bit, gnawing on her bottom lip the way she always does when she's thinking. It's easily the single most cutest thing I've ever seen, but the solemn note in the room calls for unclouded judgment—one that doesn't involve the pressing desire to kiss her senseless.

"I want to understand everything, Sam," she says, her voice choking with emotion. "And helping you is the only way I can do that. Besides, this Empath/Psychic Medium thing is pretty much unavoidable. It follows me everywhere I go, and I can't stop it."

"Are you sure?" I ask her.

"Yes," she nods, and I'm certain she's trying to convince herself as well.

"Are you very sure?"

Her mouth curves upwards in a tickled grin. "It's a little late for regrets now, don't you think?"

And just like that she manages to relief the tension in the air; it's rather amazing. Chuckling back in reply, I can't help but be swept away by her again. She brightens up the room with a simple smile, and she's so strong characteristically, it's hard to imagine anything that she's afraid of, but I'm glad that she's stubborn enough to stay. We can really use someone like Quinn Fabray in Project Paranormal.

Pushing myself up on my feet, I glance down at her and extend one hand out.

"Breakfast?" she guesses with a quirk of an eyebrow.

"Reading my mind again?" I quip back teasingly.

"No, your stomach," she answers, sliding her fingers through mine, allowing me to pull her up. "It's sending signals."

"Really?"

"No," she snorts. "I heard it rumbling."

Feeling utterly comfortable around her, I drape my arm across her petite shoulders, hugging her close as we head out of the room for the kitchen. Blaine is reading his daily newspaper on the couch, a mug of steaming coffee on the table, and he looks up when we enter the space.

"Hey, you two," he greets cheerfully. "I see you've managed to wake him up, Quinn."

"Always a pleasure," she winks coquettishly. Thank God he's gay. No regular Joe would've survived that without melting into a puddle.

"Waffles are on the counter," Blaine informs us before returning to his reading.

"Cool, thanks, dude." I don't know what I would do without him; probably end up serving cereal and orange juice to Quinn. She slides out of my hold to gather the plates for the both of us while I pad over to the pot of coffee. After pouring two cups, I join her at the counter as she's dousing maple syrup on her food. "Don't tell me you have obsessive sweetness disorder as well."

She sticks her tongue out at me. "Shut up and eat."

Blaine makes the best batch of waffles ever—okay, he makes the best everything ever—and I'm actually really thankful I have him as a roommate, even though it tends to get a little crazy when Kurt comes over and the show tunes begin.

"I've researched Wayne Hunters last night and cross-referenced his name with the numbers one forty-two," Quinn tells me, breaking the silence and catching my attention.

"You did?" I'm thoroughly impressed.

"Yeah, but there are accounts dating back to the early nineteen hundreds, and it's nearly impossible to sift them out, especially when it's all lacking in pictorial references. The last one I found was a serial killer in Oklahoma who murdered a total of twenty people in six months."

I nearly choke on my waffle. "A serial killer?"

"Don't worry, though, he's not our guy," she assures me. "There has to be a way to simplify this process."

"Maybe there's more to this than just the guy and the house," I wonder out loud. "What if all the events in my dream tell some sort of a story? There could be a hidden meaning behind it. Okay, let's list it out in order."

"Alright."

At least she's on board with this. "Let me go grab a pen and paper," I tell her before zipping off to my room to retrieve the necessary writing material. Once back in the kitchen, I shove the food aside, turning to a fresh sheet of paper in my notepad. "So, it always begins with a ball of light, rolling towards me," I narrate out, scribbling as I go along. Quinn scoots her chair closer to me, and I take a whiff of her sweet scent. Catching myself before I stray off and end up doing something else—like having to make out with her on the kitchen table—I clear my throat to shake me out of the momentary lapse in my head.

"And then I'm falling into the darkness," I continue, keeping my focus on the page. "And I always resurface in the river, swimming to stay afloat."

"But last night had been sort of different, right?"

I nod my head. "All of a sudden, I see someone digging, a shovel in his hands in a backyard of some sort."

"And then, in a blink, you see him—his face—so clear with those intense blue eyes," Quinn reiterates, because she sees it, just like how I did. I notice her slightly shiver at the memory, and before I can stop myself, I'm running my palm up and down her back to soothe her nerves. "That was just creepy, Sam."

"Yeah, it was," I agree, picking up my pen again to write. "But everything came in spurts. The number pops up, and then somehow we're looking at the exterior of a house, and then I'm back at that darn river, floating on the wooden door with those same numbers on it. There were mist, and then there was fog, and the door gives way and I'm falling again."

"You had flashes."

"I saw Wayne Hunters' tombstone."

"What are you guys talking about?" Blaine cranes his neck around to glance at us, curiosity in his voice.

"Erm…"

"We're trying to decipher Sam's dream," Quinn tells him nonchalantly.

What?

"Erm…"

"Good luck with that," Blaine calls out, barely fazed, and she gives me a confident shrug, as though she already knows beforehand of my roommate's reaction.

Quinn takes a sip of her coffee. "A house by a river, the door, the digging…" she trails off, and now, more than ever, I wish I could dive into that fascinating head of hers and find out what she's thinking. "Why would there be a door in the river?"

"Could something have happened to the house?" I muse. "I would think one forty-two is the unit of the house."

"You're probably right."

"Maybe the river flooded the house?" Blaine offers, and I can't believe he's eavesdropping on our conversation.

"You think?" Quinn asks.

Setting his newspaper down on the table, Blaine picks up his mug of coffee and traipses over to where we are, hovering over our shoulders to read the notes on the paper. "If the door does indeed belong to the house, and it's floating along the river, then perhaps something happened, washing the door away. Unless, of course, if someone deliberately threw the door into the rushing water, which could then mean a lot of other things—"

"Whoa, slow down there, buddy," I say, because he's making my head spin.

"But it's just the door," Quinn murmurs.

"And it's just a dream," Blaine counters with a small smirk. "That itself defies all logic."

"Since when are you such an expert on dreams?" I narrow my eyes suspiciously at him.

"Since _Inception_."

Oh, great. The dude watches one movie and thinks he has uncovered the secrets of the world.

"He might have a point there."

What?

"Quinn—"

"Perhaps that was why Wayne was digging in his backyard. He could be trying to keep something safe from being washed away—"

"Like some kind of treasure?" Blaine inputs. "Or something he didn't want anybody to find—"

"Until now."

Am I the only one not following this?

"But why would—"

Quinn cuts him off again, her eyes wide and twinkling. "A family secret. An heirloom."

Seriously, what?

"For Sam? Really?" Blaine eyes me skeptically.

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" I retort.

"It's the only logical explanation," Quinn exclaims. "Sam, I think you're related to Wayne Hunters, and he's trying to send you messages through your dreams."

It's my turn to look incredulous. "Really?"

"Dead people don't try and communicate with you without a valid reason, Sam," Blaine states knowledgably.

This is way beyond the usually paranormal stuff that I'm familiar with, so I'm not sure how to go about comprehending it. On one hand, this is too surreal, the possibilities seeming too much like a plot of a sci-fi television series, but on the other hand, some weird part of it makes some kind of semblance of a sense.

And then I remember something.

"The journal."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 2.30pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

I've decided to take my lunch in the headquarters, not wanting to risk being late again. Can't give my team leader the satisfaction of calling me out for the umpteenth time. Besides, showing up early might perhaps score some brownie points with Quinn, and show her that I'm a responsible and mature adult—that I take my craft seriously. Maybe if I look less of a dipshit loser, she might actually tear herself away from Sam and agree to go out with me.

Propping my feet up onto the desk, I peel the cling wrap from my ham sandwich and take a bite as I stare up at the huge-ass wall calendar. Instantly, I notice an interesting progress; that someone—possibly Tina—had added in Quinn's class schedule, and I'm not exactly sure why I'm surprised by the fact that she's majoring in Arts and Mass Communication instead of something brainy like Law or Biology. From the looks of it, though, she's got a relatively typical timetable—not too rigorous like one of those Physics major, or too slack like the one of Sports Management.

I suppose squeezing her in for lunchtime would be a piece of cake.

Still studying the chart, I attempt to scarf down another mouthful of my sandwich, not really paying any attention to what I'm doing. And that is when my hand-eye coordination decides to fail on me.

Damn it.

Glancing down at myself, I see a chunk of meat glaring back at me from the spot on my chest, the hints of mustard and ketchup staining my otherwise clean polo T-shirt.

"Shit!"

Fucking son of a bitch.

Grabbing the nearest box of Kleenex, I place the rest of the sandwich next to the keyboard and attempt to wipe the mess, swearing as the ugly glob refuses to disappear. God, why? Why can't I ever catch a break?

"Hey, you're here early."

And it just gets worse.

Scowling at my failed mission, I toss the tissue paper into the bin and spin my chair around just as Sam enters the room. Trailing behind him is none other than Quinn Fabray, striding in with a dazzling smile on her flawless face. Can these two be anymore joined at the hip? I mean, Sam has to back off, okay.

She takes one good look at the catastrophe on my shirt and breaks into a tiny giggle.

"Was your shirt hungry too, Finn?" she jokes light-heartedly.

When she says it that way, it's just too damn difficult to feel anything but the warming of my heart down to the tips of my toes. I'm just reveling in the fact that she's even acknowledging my existence, even if it's to take a jab at my pride. Am I just sad or what?

"Something like that," I counter back, trying to appear as smooth as possible—which, as you can tell, it almost an impossible feat considering my situation. "Did you guys bump into each other outside?"

"No, actually, we were from the deli across my dorm," Sam replies, simultaneously logging on to his computer. "What about you?"

I shrug, like I don't give a damn, but seriously, dude. "I was in the library, actually," I fib, hoping they'll buy it. "Catching up on some reading, you know."

"Cool," they chorus in perfect sync.

Okay, that's just too much.

And then I'm aware that she's gazing at that same spot she did the other day, a confused yet alert expression on her features. Following her line of vision, I crane my neck and squint my eyes to get a good look, though I'm positive that there's nothing there but a slab of brick wall.

"Quinn?"

She whips her head back around to meet my eyes. "Yes?"

I open my mouth, ready to ask the question that's on the tip of my tongue, when I realize that this could be my ammunition for when I get the chance to finally talk to her in private. It could be like our dirty little secret. "I didn't know you were a Mass Com major," I say instead.

"Yeah, I am," she stiffly answers me, her lips pressed together in a tight line.

"Hey, check this out, Q," Sam whispers to her before I can continue, and I watch with bubbling uneasiness as she crouches down close to him to read whatever it is on his screen, his nickname for her not lost to me. They start conversing in hushed tones, and even after straining my ears, I'm unable to make out a single word.

Rachel and Mike enter the room then, the brunette talking a mile a minute, and not long after, Artie wheels in with Tina following behind him, and then there isn't really a chance for me to get Quinn all to myself.

Sam does a quick briefing, recapping the major points from yesterday's meeting, and after making sure that everybody is clear on their given tasks and instructions, we start loading the gear into the cars. I'm buzzed, because there's always a certain thrill when going into an investigation—the anticipation of not knowing what might happen tonight—and overall, I'm just stoked about this case.

My infatuation with Quinn aside, there's nothing more exhilarating than working with a team of dedicated people who share the same passion as myself. Regardless of our personal beliefs, our main objective has always been the same—to find scientific evidence and try to explain the paranormal as we help people with their problems.

As usual, I'm stuck in the car with Tina and Rachel, and automatically they start ranting off about the latest Indie bands, and which electro-pop groups are making their comebacks, and it's just verbal torture to my delicate ears. I don't mean to sound like a shallow chick-flick-loving guy, but to me, it's pure word vomit.

Who cares what Marina does to her diamonds?

"It's Marina _and_ the Diamonds, Finn," Rachel snaps condescendingly.

Had I said that out loud?

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath. Through the reflection in the rearview mirror, she gives me this evil stink eye, and in return, I give the mirror a slight tilt to ensure that she's out of frame for the remaining duration of the trip.

Sugar—what kind of a name is that, anyway—is already out on the porch, waiting as we pull up in the driveway. A bright smile lights up her face the instant she sees us, and she waves her arms around enthusiastically. I'm starting to feel that she would get along really well with Rachel. They can probably have a chat-fest together, like a babbling marathon.

Ahead of the pack, Sam gets out of his car, and I see Quinn follow suit. While my team leader heads over to the client, however, she strides over to Mike's car to help Artie out. Instinctively, I rush out of the driver's seat to quickly lend her a hand. What kind of a dude would I be to allow a chick to do all the hard work, right? Brownie points, remember?

Nevertheless, my efforts pay off, because she flashes me one of her precious smiles, and I feel the butterflies flutter in my stomach all the way to my throat, and it's choking me of my words, so instead of coming up with something witty to say, I just dumbly grin back at her, feeling like a lost cause.

Sam returns just then, with Sugar in tow, and at the corner of my eyes, I see his slimy hand wrap around Quinn's waist as he intimately murmurs something in her ear. She chuckles at something he says, peering up at him through her long lashes, and it nauseates me. My fists clench subconsciously, and I have to resist the urge to kick the dude in the nuts.

"I just want to thank you guys so much for helping me out," Sugar addresses the group, holding her hands to her chest. "I really appreciate it, and I hope you'll be able to give me some validation on my experiences, or if I'm actually going crazy, which I think is absurd because my mom had me tested."

"We're glad to help in anyway we can," Sam tells her in his professional business-like tone. I bet he hadn't used that when he was talking to Quinn earlier on. "So, I suppose my team and I will get the equipment set up and we'll be ready to go. Hopefully we'll get back to you in a few days time with our findings."

"I'm looking forward to it," she chirps, but then her expression turns serious. "Don't step on the roses. Anything in that garden gets ruined, and I'll destroy you."

Awkward silence.

"Good luck!"

With a final wiggle of her fingers, she skips over to her yellow Saab and drives out of the gate, giving one final honk to bid goodbye.

"Okay," Sam declares, clapping his hands together for attention. "Why don't we start getting things rolling?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Another filler, I know…I'm just full of rubbish, aren't I? LOL! Anyway, so this chapter I suppose opens up another clue to Sam's mystery. Apart from that, there's a little hint of something for Quinn in there as well. Hopefully you guys picked up on that :P For those of you who might be enquiring about THA, it's on a short hold at the moment. I want to make sure I leave this story on a proper cliffhanger before I jump on the other story :D Don't kill me, please!

**Lina. FabrevansOvergronFan:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I'm flattered by your wonderful comments! I know I sort of mentioned that the investigation is coming up next, but I promise, the next chapter definitely will include the proper investigation, and I'm trying to make it a really long one, too! Well, I've managed to insert jealous Finn into this chapter, hopefully you've enjoyed it!

**Dogluvertoo:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! LOL! I don't blame you for straying from Sam's dream thing because when I was writing it, I had to constantly remind myself that they were making out for a reason. Hehe! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hi! Thank you so very much for always being there to read and review! I always appreciate it! I'm glad you've enjoyed the scene in the headquarters! I had a blast writing it :P LOL! I'm glad you caught the bit about the sex swing. It was a result of a conversation I had with a friend, and so I decided it was a hilarious addition to the story! I know that I hadn't added in the conversation with Judy, but I've mentioned bits of it in this chapter. I didn't want to delay the Fabrevans scene, and I actually had no idea how to write a confrontational scene between Quinn, Judy and Santana, so I'm going to leave it to your imagination :P I'm really excited to start on the new story, but I told myself that I had to resist starting it now because I feel that it deserves some special care. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm really glad that you've enjoyed the part with Sam and Quinn! That was so much fun to write! :D

**Alli2345:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad to know that you've enjoyed the previous chapter, especially with the Fabrevans bit! I had a blast writing that part too! As for Sam's dream, they're slowly trying to decipher the mystery behind it, and I hope you'll find it interesting! Cheers!

**Xvzgirl:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like Santana!


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: **Yay! I got this up as fast as I can! Hopefully it's up to standard!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 29**

**Sunday, 6.45pm**

**/Mike Chang**

Artie sends me up to the attic to fix the angle on one of the digital camcorders. Apparently, someone—cough, Rachel, cough—had been careless or something and hadn't tightened the knobs on the tripod, causing the lost in signal and the frame to tilt on the screen. Although she's rather adamant on defending her actions, and insists that she had in fact double-checked the camcorder before leaving, she refused to readjust the gear on account that nobody would believe her, so why bother?

What a prima donna.

The floorboards creak beneath my weight with each step I take, the small space clearly not meant for anything other than storage. Dusty and dim, I shuffle across to the other end of the attic, and sure enough I see the lopsided camcorder pointing downwards. Rolling my eyes at the half-assed job, I click on my flashlight, catch it between my teeth and work on righting the equipment.

Huh, that's weird.

I had expected the dial to be rather loose, but it's a dead bolt, and it's taking quite a bit of strength to unwind it enough so that I can shift the joints. It would actually require someone to physically knock it off its position for it to end up the way it did. Perhaps it had been faulty, but the cable hasn't been connected properly either. My walkie-talkie crackles loudly in the still silence, and a second later, Artie's voice reverberates through the space.

"Artie to Mike. Dude?"

Keeping one hand steady on the camera, I use the other to pull out the device from my pocket. "Mike to Artie. How does the angle look now?" It's hard to talk with the flashlight still in my mouth, but we've done this so many times, it's sort of self-explanatory.

"Can you tilt it up a bit more, please?" he requests, and as I change the angle, my tech manager gives me more instructions. "Yeah, that's it. Perfect. Just make sure it's on manual focus, and you're good to go."

"Roger," I reply, flashing a 'peace' sign into the lens. "Over and out."

I make sure to screw the knob real tight, nudging the tripod a few times to test the stability, and when I'm satisfied that it's not going to topple over or anything, I make my way out.

And then I hear it.

A scuffing sound coming from behind me.

But then it stops.

So I turn to look, my brows furrowed, and there's nothing but a plain wall. Taking a cautious step forward, I beam my light down onto the floor to see if perhaps there's some sort of animal up here, but other than the occasional cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, I can't find a trace of rodent or lizard—or even bird—droppings.

Okay.

I slide my feet along the wooden planks, experimenting with recreating that sound, but my multiple attempts turn up empty. What had made that noise, I have no clue.

Deciding that I shouldn't dwell on it for so long, I prepare to head out. I mean, for all I know, it can very well be some insect or another, considering the state of the attic. Certain sounds are easily dismissible, and as investigators, we're always mindful not to quickly classify something unexplained as paranormal.

"So what happened to that camera?" Artie sternly demands to know as soon as I return to central command. He's clingy with his technology, and it's understandable because the school sort of funds some of them and he's accountable for anything that goes remotely wrong.

"Erm…I don't know," I regretfully admit with a shrug of my shoulders. "Someone must've knocked it by accident because the knob was actually on tight—"

"A-ha!" Rachel exclaims victoriously. "I knew it! I had that camera set up perfectly and—"

"Facing the floor?" Finn comments, the sarcasm dripping in his voice.

She frowns and sticks her nose up in the air. "I will have you know that in my career as a paranormal investigator, I have not once screwed up on technical set up. Of course, I can't say the same for you—"

"Okay, that's enough," Sam speaks up authoritatively, interrupting their mindless banter. "The bottom line is that it's fixed now. Let's move on. Artie, are all the cameras good?"

The bespectacled dude does a final check on his monitors before nodding his head and flashing a thumbs-up. "Yeah, I'm sure we've got the whole house covered, and of course we'll be running additional equipment as we go in to investigate, but we should be ready for action."

"Cool," Sam says and turns to face the team. "Great job, guys. We probably have a good half an hour before the sun sets, and I suggest we get a quick rest. As usual, we have water in the cooler and some energy bars in the food pack. Mike and I will take the first shift, and then I want Finn to head in alone. Tina and Rachel, the both of you will go last. Quinn, you're based out here with Artie. Any questions?"

Finn raises his hand, looking a bit concerned. He has the right to be, anyway. Between his bulky size and his unquestionable clumsiness, the last thing he needs is more stuff to hold and operate.

"Can I get a head cam instead?"

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 7.10pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Was that camera up in the attic recording?" I hear Quinn quietly ask Artie, and yeah, as a lead investigator, I would like to know as well. Leaning against the edge of the makeshift table, I fold my arms across my chest and patiently await my tech manager's answer.

He sighs and shakes his head. "Unfortunately, it wasn't. I only found out that it was askew after I've patched the signal, but I do remember it being upright when I gave Rachel the okay," he explains. "She must've tripped over the wire or something and not realize it."

I'll accept that, but I'm still skeptical because it's so unlike Rachel to be so absent-minded about stuff like this. Out of everybody in the team, she's probably the most anal person I know. She'll go all out as to criticize my sloppy cable-taping workmanship, and then takes the liberty to personally correct them to her standards—and in all due respect, her attention to detail had saved a couple of our asses before.

"Quinn, can I talk to you for a second?" As subtly as possible, I tip my head towards my car, hoping she'll pick up on the hint even without her special abilities.

"Sure." Jumping to her feet, she stops short before turning to face Artie. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all."

He is cool that way, but then again, I'm perhaps as obvious as daylight.

I pat his back in appreciation. "Thanks, Arts."

We walk in silence, stopping even before we get to the car, and she gazes expectantly up at me, the kind smile dancing on her face while the rays of sunlight bounces off her hypnotic eyes. She is so beautiful, so, so beautiful, and I'm struggling to contain myself from running my fingers through the silky strands of her hair. Jamming my hands into the pockets of my pants—literally to stop myself from reaching out to her—I lift the corner of my lips in an awkward, lopsided grin.

"How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually," she tells me, the honesty evident in her tone.

"This is okay for you, right? You're perfectly fine with this?"

"Yes."

"Are you—are you getting any vibes from this place?"

Quinn tilts her chin up defiantly, a playful glint in her eyes. "What happened to going in with an unprejudiced mind?"

"I can use a good lead."

She feigns a shocked expression. "Sam Evans, how dare you. That's an unfair advantage, mister," she mischievously pokes at my tummy.

"Fine, fine," I play along with the charades, holding my hands up in surrender. "But if I end up wrestling a spirit, I'm coming back to haunt you."

"You won't," she says airily, as though letting me in on a secret, and I know she's giving me a hint either way. It really is too bad that I can't allow her in on this investigation, because I know she'll be amazing, with or without her Empath/Psychic Medium abilities.

"Alright, I know you're probably sick of hearing me say it, but I just need to make sure, you know. I have your mom and Santana to answer to, and your roommate is going to have my balls served to the zoo if anything—"

"Sam." She cuts into my rant by placing her hands on my chest, and damn, that woman has found my weakness. Staring squarely up at me without a semblance of doubt, she says, "I'm fine."

"Okay," I nod even though I'm still not convinced. "But you'll tell me if anything's wrong, right?"

"I promise."

Then, rising up on her tiptoes, she drops a chaste kiss on my right cheek before scampering back to Artie, and I'm standing there, probably grinning like a total idiot. I mean, sure, we've done a whole lot more than just a subdued peck or two, but it has always felt different every single time. I watch as her hips sway with each step—if I don't know better, I'd say she's teasing me—and chuckling to myself, I can't help the heat that spreads up to my ears.

Finn intercepts her route just then, jogging over with a mega-watt smile on his face and startling her for a bit. Pressing my lips together, I swallow back a laugh, slightly amused at his advances. Come on, I'm a guy, but I'm not dense. I'm very much aware of Finn's pursuit on our resident blonde hottie—if the constant panting is of any indication—and I'm going to sound like a jerk after this, but I'm sure Quinn's not interested. Her shying away right now is probably a good reason why.

Sorry.

Then again, I am a guy, after all. Our ego and penis reign supreme over anything else.

And then I catch him stealing a glance over his shoulder at me, and all of a sudden, I get that primitive male dose of instinctive testosterone flooding over me—that pressing need for domination all over again. God, that Neanderthal is turning me into an ape.

He cracks a smirk.

Oh, fucking, no.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 7.45pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

"So, are you excited for the investigation?"

Quinn hooks her thumbs onto the belt loops of her jeans and sort of kicks the dirt. "I suppose so, not that I'm actually going in there, you know."

"Sam should just let you do it," I tell her, sneaking another peek at my team leader, knowing that he's probably watching us right now. "I mean, with your sixth sense, we might be able to achieve so much more."

"Or we might not," she casually replies. "Sam is just trying to do what's best for me and the team. Without knowing the extents of my abilities, we don't know what we're up against. Things could go both ways, so he's just playing it safe."

"Hey, I have an idea."

She turns her head to regard me with curiosity, and then my palms start clamming up again, my mouth running dry. Bloody hell, why am I such a pussy at this? Clearing my throat, I hesitantly reach out to take her soft hand, my action surprising her somewhat, maybe because I'm usually not so bold with my feelings. I try not to grimace, wondering what she must be thinking with the sweat pooling between our skins, but I can't afford to chicken out now—not when I can finally give a clear warning to Sam to back off.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you join me in my investigation?" I suggest enthusiastically.

"Erm…I don't think that's a good idea—"

"Sure it is," I press on, trying not to panic because I can't allow the situation to simply slip out of my fingers like that. "I mean, it's always safer to go in pairs, and since I'm flying solo, you should join me—"

"I really don't think we should—"

"Look, Quinn," I jump in again, tightening my grip on her. "I know you saw or experienced something just now in the headquarters. I caught you looking out of the window twice now, and yesterday, you said that you heard your name in the hallway and then stopped me when I wanted to tell Sam about it. What's going on here?"

"I don't know, okay," she snaps back impatiently, but then sensing that everybody's staring at us now, she lowers her voice. "I'm trying to figure it out."

"Maybe I can help," I blurt out without thinking.

"No, you can't—"

"Hey, is everything okay?"

Oh, swell. The knight in shining armor swoops in to save his princess from the big bad wolf.

"Yeah," Quinn immediately answers him. "We're good."

Sam eyes me suspiciously with some warning undertones, and I just glare right back at him. He is deliberately cock-blocking me right now, and it's really pissing me off. Why can't he just let me be? Quinn and I were having a perfectly well-rounded conversation, thank you very much.

"I'm about to call the team for one final technical check," he informs us, his voice steely and monotonous—yes, I know what that word means—as he frowns disapprovingly at me. "I suggest the both of you gather at central command."

Funny, considering we're barely five feet away.

"Sure, let me just—"

"Now."

Aye, aye, captain.

As he stalks off to find the others, I turn my attention back to Quinn. She's gazing after him, a certain kind of uneasiness in her features, and I hope she doesn't think that she owes her team leader an explanation or something.

"Quinn—"

"We should get going."

And then she's gone too.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 8.50pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"The time now is eight fifty. Commencing Graveyard Shift. Good luck, guys."

Sam dismisses the team with one final nod, and I take that as my cue to tuck all the necessary equipment into the pockets of my brown cargo pants—my staple investigative gear—remembering to grab the laser grid as well as a spare flashlight. Never know when you might need an extra one.

"You ready?"

Fitting my hand through the strap of the digital camcorder, I turn to my team leader. "I'm Asian, man. I'm always ready."

He rolls his eyes, and then we're off.

Although the house isn't relatively massive like the South Oak Mansion, it still looms overhead in the night. The lights are off and the darkness sort of engulfs the area surrounding the residence, and I'm reminded of the garden gnomes lurking in the bushes. There's nothing remotely creepy about the place—save for the tall trees everywhere—but after being in the business for so long, you kind of get the feeing if the building is haunted or not. Apart from what had happened earlier up at the attic, I don't think there's a high level of paranormal activity.

We climb up the shorts steps onto the porch, and as Sam clicks his flashlight on, I hit on the 'record' button. Entirely out of habit, I give the door a light rap—a sort of Eastern courtesy, if you will—and Sam just snickers before he turns the knob and we cautiously enter the house.

"Hello?" I call out. "Anybody home? We're friends of Sugar—the girl who always comes over to babysit—and we're just helping her find some answers. I'm Mike."

"I'm Sam."

"We just want to ask you a few questions."

Sam gives me a nudge. "Why don't we sit down in the living room?" he suggests. "Try and see if we can get the right angles."

"Good idea."

He takes the sofa and I decide to perch on the single seater adjacent to him, pointing the camcorder in his direction. There's a digital audio recorder already set on the coffee table, and Sam double-checks on it to make sure that it's still doing its job. We make ourselves comfortable and allow for the air to settle.

"So it seems like she would be sitting right here when she took that photograph with her cellphone, and the shadow appeared somewhere around there." Using the beam of his flashlight as a cursor, he circles the spot near the corner wall.

"Maybe we should try an experiment, you know," I propose. It has always been my specialty to debunk claims that might be easily explained through scientific or generic means. "Why don't you try taking a few shots using your camera phone, and we'll try to see if we can somehow recreate the shadow?"

"Sure." He takes a couple of shots with the flash on auto, and I keep my eyes peeled on the corner, trying to pick out any inconsistencies or odd shadows on the wall. "Anything?"

"No, not really." Sam hands his phone over and I squint at the images, studying the pixels, but finding nothing out of the ordinary. "Maybe you can try standing over by that side of the living room," he tells me, directing his thumb over his shoulder. "Maybe it would be able to cast some kind of silhouette on the wall."

"Alright."

Passing the phone and the digital camcorder to him, I move to stand at the opposite end of the space, and already I can see the dark outline of my figure from the illumination of the cameras. Sam snaps the photos.

"Well, that's kind of a bust," he says. "The flash on the wall flushes you out, so there's no way the light could bounce back, hit on you, and then cause a shadow on the wall—at least not one so dark and clear as what Sugar had captured."

I closely examine the pictures and I see what he means by that. Even if there were anybody standing behind Sugar when she had taken the picture, the person's shadow wouldn't even register on the wall. Glancing around, I try to pinpoint a suitable spot. "What if someone was standing over by that area?" There is a corner pillar jutting out right before the opening to the kitchen, and it seems like a plausible option.

"Let's give it a try."

So I go over and Sam does his thing.

"Wait, hang on—"

And then I hear a sound—the same one from earlier on—and I whip my head around.

"Did you hear that?"

Sam turns around. "Hear what?"

"Like an abrasive sound on the wall," I explain, doing a three-sixty, though it's quite useless because I can't really see. "Toss me a flashlight."

He pitches it over with the beam still on so that I'm able to catch it without fumbling. I shine the light down on the floor, but nothing seems amiss. "It sounded like a scratch, but I can't find anything that could've made that noise."

Sam comes over and uses the in-built light and night vision mode to scan the area for loose objects. "I didn't hear anything," he says. "Where did it come from?"

"Right here."

"Could it be one of the photo frames on the wall?"

There are six of them mounted in two columns, all straight and seemingly untouched. I give one of the pictures an experimental shift, testing its sturdiness. "That's it," I announce triumphantly. "That's the sound I heard."

"One of the claims was that some of these photo frames had flown off the walls on their own," Sam tells me. "But these hooks aren't loose or anything. I can't think of a reason why it would just fall off. Why don't you try stomping around?"

I march back and forth, making as much noise and vibration as possible, but the photo frames don't budge. "Well, I suppose we're not able to debunk that but—"

Sam whirls around all of a sudden.

"Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"There's like—" He doesn't finish his sentence before striding over towards the dining area, the digital camcorder still in his grasp. Confused, I trail after him, but then he stops short, panning the camera across the room. "Shit! I saw a shadow, like a quick dart in here. It was moving really fast."

"Do you think you caught it on the camcorder?"

"I don't know, but I think we should conduct an EVP session." Sam shoves the camera into my hands. "I'm going to go grab the digital audio recorder. Can you set up the laser grid?"

"Sure."

After that, we pull up a couple of chairs and I place the camcorder down on the big oak dining table facing the dots of laser beams. If anything were to pass in front, the beams would be blocked, and we need the camera to catch it. Sam tags the audio file, "Camden House, Sam and Mike, dining room, commencing EVP. Were you the one who had made that noise earlier on? Did you move the photo frame?"

"I heard that you can make things fall off the wall," I add in. "Can you do that again?"

"You showed yourself to Sugar. Can you show yourself to us, please?"

"Can you walk in front of the laser grid?" I request. "We just need to know that you're really here. If you are, can you make a noise, or touch one of us?"

"You tugged on Sugar's hair once," Sam says. "You obviously wanted her to know that you're here. Can you do that now?"

The house is now still and silent; nothing is happening.

"Why don't we move on?" Sam speaks up after a few minutes. "We still have quite a handful of ground to cover."

"I want to go up to the attic."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 10.10pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

"Doesn't seem like much is happening in there," I comment, peering over Artie's shoulder at the multiple frames on the surveillance monitors. Frankly, I don't know how he does it; sitting in front of the screens staring at the footages all night and making sure to inform us of any developments.

"Uh-huh," Artie replies off-handedly, and I'm wondering if he even heard me in the first place.

"Why don't we get live audio feed from the stationary camcorders?" I ask him. Not to be an annoying pain or anything, but I am genuinely curious. If we get live video feed, why not the audio too? I'm sure it'll be of help if central command picks up something from another room and then mention it to the investigators inside. It's a great suggestion.

"How many pairs of ears do you think we have?" my technical manager counters sarcastically. He seriously needs an attitude adjustment. His short-temperedness is nothing if not a terrible example to the rest of us. "We can't possibly—"

"Artie, look!" Quinn exclaims, pointing to one of the rectangular frames on the screen.

"What is it?"

"We've lost the signal in that camera," she says. "Which one is that?"

Artie refers the numbers on upper right hand corner of the frame and checks them against his notebook. "That's the one in the attic."

Quinn does a double take. "The same one?"

"The same one," Artie affirms, snatching the walkie-talkie to radio Mike and Sam. "Artie to Sam and Mike. Come in, guys."

There's a crackle and Mike answers the call. "Mike to Artie. What's up?"

"We seem to have a black-out on the camera up in the attic," he informs them tightly, probably more worried for the equipment than his teammates. "Can you please—"

"On it, Arts."

"I'm under the impression that we've fixed it," I comment, planting one hand on my hip. "Is the mechanism faulty?"

Finn and Tina, who have noticed the commotion, jog over to check out what all the fuss is about. In another frame on the monitor, I find Sam and Mike ascending the flight of stairs.

"What's going on?" Tina asks.

"The camcorder in the attic went offline," I tell her. "My guess is that the knob is loose."

"I'm getting Sam and Mike to check on it," Artie adds in. "We should be hearing from them in a bit."

As if on cue, the walkie-talkie on the table beeps to life, and the voice that resonates out of the speaker is that of Sam's.

"Artie, you're not going to believe this."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Cliffhanger! LOL! Hmm…I wonder what had happened in the attic with the camcorder. Any guesses?

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter! I truly appreciate it! I'm glad you've liked that bit about Marina and the Diamonds—a little shout out, there—and I'm glad that all the weird stuff happening to Sam is understandable to you. I was a bit worried that it would be too weird or too unbelievable, but that's a relief! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! As always, thank you ever so much for continuously reading and reviewing my story! Finn does bother me too, like some creepy love-crazed person, but he is actually harmless. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** HELLO! Hehe! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter, and always leaving helpful comments! I'm glad that you're raising questions, and yes, the journal is a crucial part of the mystery with Sam's dreams, but that will be revisited after the investigation, I promise. It's nice to know that you empathize with Finn's character, because he's not an evil person, per se, and he's relatively harmless. A little cocky at times, but he's just being awkward and Finn-like. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Xvzgirl:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's actually a pleasure to respond to my lovely readers who take the effort to leave comments, so I'm always grateful and appreciative of it. Cheers!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Welcome back! I hope you're doing fine with all the craziness between a vacation and your job-searching! It's great to have you back, and please, there is no need to apologize. I'm glad you like how the story is shaping up so far, especially with Sam and Quinn, and his mysterious dreams! Thank you so much for the wonderful comments! I'm also glad that you like Blaine's character and how he's helping Sam and Quinn too. Finn, to me, though he is annoying as heck, he is actually pretty harmless, and it's sort of fun to poke fun at him. LOL! Okay, that is making me sound kind of mean. Don't worry, though. As time progresses, he'll know when to take a hint and leave them alone :P Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **Don't. Kill. Me. Please. And yes, I'm being a terrible author right now, but it's been crazy so far. Just got back from a much-needed vacation and I'm thrown straight into work, and to top it off, I've got a major recital to prepare for, so I hope you guys will forgive me!

Without further ado, chapter 30!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 30**

**Sunday, 10.20pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," Mike mutters under his breath.

He couldn't have said it in a better way. Wordlessly, I cross the small span of the attic over to the tripod stand, dumbfounded as I cautiously circle the perimeter. My eyes, however, are glued to the stationary camera, now pointing towards the empty wall, in a total opposite direction as it had been initially. Trailing the flashlight down to the floor, I see the end of the cable, and I'm thinking it would've been nearly impossible not to hear it drop like that.

"What the hell happened to the camera?" Through the walkie-talkie, Artie's voice is strained with stress.

"The camcorder had been turned to face the wall and the cable got disconnected somehow," I report. "Clearly whatever it is in here doesn't want us capturing anything."

I can feel the silence down at central command all the way from up here, and I turn to face Mike, who has the hand-held mini-DV directed at me, a grim expression on his features. I suppose it has to be quite unsettling for him, especially since he had been the one to position the equipment earlier on, and no matter how seasoned of an investigator you are, there's always something new that will continuously leave you speechless.

This is one of it.

"Alright, well, nothing is damaged, right?" Artie asks.

"Not that I can see," I tell him, retrieving the cable from the floor.

Mike comes over to help—setting his hand-held on one of the many boxes towering in the small space—and proceeds to unlock the knob on the tripod, straightening it to its righteous position. When that's done, I plug the cable into its port and radio for my technical manager again.

"Sam to Artie."

"Go for Artie," he replies.

"I'm going to turn the camcorder on now," I relate back to him. "Let me know if you get the signal."

"Roger."

I hit the red button at the side of the camcorder and the small screen lights up in green, the night vision mode still activated. "How is it now, Artie?"

"Signal received," Artie answers. "Thanks guys."

"No problem." Tucking the walkie-talkie into the back pocket of my pants, I turn to face Mike. "Why don't you do a quick EMF sweep up here? I can get started on the EVP session. It seems to be an unexpected hotspot tonight."

"Sounds great," Mike shrugs his shoulders, passing the camcorder over to me so that he can get to his task. "It's a steady point two in here; pretty flat."

I find a spot on the ground that's not too dusty and pull out the spare digital audio recorder before sitting down, holding the camera up in front of me. "Camden House, Sam and Mike, attic, commencing EVP," I speak into the device. It's important to constantly tag all the audios so that the person analyzing the data afterwards is able to differentiate the voices and background noises. "Is anybody in here with us right now?" I ask out loud, and then pause for a reaction. Mike joins me on the floor and then sets the KII Meter down. "Were you the one who made the noise downstairs earlier on?"

"I heard you up here just now," Mike contributes. "Could you do that sound again?"

Nothing.

Everything is stagnant; the air is dry and a little stale.

"We have a device in front of us," I say, pointing the mini-DV down to the KII Meter. "It won't hurt you. If you walk in front of it, the lights will go off and we'll know that you're here."

"What are you doing here scaring off the people in the house?" Mike wonders, and I know it's time to get a bit aggressive with our investigation. Sometimes, when we feel that certain entities are not responding, we try to provoke them a bit and see if we can trigger something. It has worked on some occasions, so maybe it'll do us a favor. "Do you think it's funny? Is it just for your entertainment?"

His voice echoes off the walls.

Yet, nothing happens.

Still, we wait in the silence.

"We just want to know that you're here."

And then I notice something odd.

"Hey, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

I'm squinting at it, blinking and ensuring that my eyes aren't playing tricks on me. "Do you see that small dark patch at that corner over there?"

Mike is about to shine his flashlight over to the spot but I'm quick to stop him, for fear that it might scare the entity off. He gets it immediately, of course, and nods his head. "Are you referring to that black thing over there?" he murmurs, fixing his gaze over on the area.

"You see it?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why don't you initiate another EVP, Mike?" I suggest. Perhaps the entity would be more willing to communicate with him since he had been up here alone earlier when he had an experience.

The good thing about Mike is that he trusts my decisions and doesn't really question my orders. "Is that you over there?" he calls out. "I think I can see you, but you need to step a little closer."

I glimpse down at the screen on the mini-DV, making sure that I still have the shot in frame, but with such a small square-inch I can't tell if it's capturing anything that we're seeing. It doesn't seem to be moving at all, just there.

"What are you still doing in here?" Mike continues his questions. "You shouldn't be in the attic. Did you once live in this house?"

It's like staring at an inanimate object, as though the presence is slowly blending in with the background.

"You don't have to be scared of us. We just want to talk to you."

My eyes are getting dry.

I blink.

And it's gone.

"I don't see it anymore," I softly mutter. "Do you?"

Mike takes a moment. "No, I don't."

Damn.

"Alright, I guess we should move on, then," I say, picking up the digital audio recorder. "This is Mike and Sam, end of EVP session."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 11.10pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Quinn is staring intently at the screen, watching the surveillance, her angelic face illuminated in green but damn, she still looks fucking gorgeous. Her brows are slightly furrowed, but her posture seems rather relaxed, and I no matter how hard I try, I can't tear my eyes away.

"Can you stop shamelessly ogling her?"

Rachel's sharp tone hits me like a bucket of ice water—a total boner killer—as she stands directly in my line of vision, blocking me from the heavenly view. My lips instantly fall to an irritated frown. What is with this chick constantly cramping my style? With a sigh, I slant my eyes over to glare at her.

"Go away, Rachel."

She scoffs at me, shakes her head and finally scampers off to go get on Tina's nerves or something. Well, that's good, then. At least she's out of my hair for now. Turning my attention back to Quinn, I notice that she's rubbing on the nape of her neck, tilting her head from side to side—a telltale sign of stress—and it gives me an idea. As quietly as possible, I tiptoe over to stand directly behind her and then softly place my hands on her shoulders.

Quinn jumps at the touch, and her back stiffens.

"Erm…"

"Just relax," I say in what I hope can only sound as sexy as I think. Applying more pressure on my fingers, I begin kneading on her muscles in circular motions.

Sitting beside her, Artie snickers.

I shoot him a look, and he continues with his task.

"Are you feeling better?" I ask Quinn.

She gives a half-snort and a half-moan, and I smirk, taking it that she's enjoying my massage. Duh, I mean, nobody can resist my magical fingers. I've been known to give the best massages in the entire campus; even Rachel won't have a thing to complain about if she ever comes around to giving it a shot, that is. Over her head, I study the frames on the screen, the one at the bottom left displaying the bird's-eye view of the basement where Sam and Mike are now investigating.

Oh, God, even when he's not physically there, he's…there.

What does a dude have to do to get a date with Quinn Fabray around here?

"Erm…Finn?"

I force myself to peel my eyeballs away from the monitor.

"Yes, Quinn?"

"You're pressing a bit too hard on my—"

"Oh!" I immediately retract my hands back, grimacing at the thought of hurting her. "Sorry!"

"That's okay," she mumbles, and I feel like a huge idiot.

Just then, the walkie-talkie makes a sound, and Sam's voice fills the quiet night.

"Sam and Mike to central command."

Quinn makes a grab for the device, almost like she's grappling at it for her dear life. "Go for Sam."

"We're wrapping it up here," he says. "Ask Finn to get ready for his shift."

"Roger that." And then she cranes her neck around to face me. "You heard him."

Seriously, such a buzz kill.

I slink off to gather my equipment and Artie assists me with the head-cam. I don't usually trust myself to handle a mini-DV on my own, especially when I have to juggle some other equipment as well. Sometimes I get careless and accidentally leave it lying around, too, and if anything goes missing, Artie is going to send me to find it all on my own—like that one time in Battle Creek Sanitarium, where I had somehow or another managed to misplace the IR Thermometer and he had made me go back in all alone for two hours to search for it.

"You look ridiculous, Finn," Rachel comments unnecessarily from where she is sitting with Tina, both of them huddled around a laptop watching some kind of documentary.

"Why, thank you, Berry," I reply sarcastically, really not appreciating her stab at me today. It's more annoying than usual, and I'm not sure what her deal is.

"You digging into a cave again, Finn?" Tina laughs out loud.

What the fuck is going on here? Do I have 'pick on me' tattooed on my forehead?

"That was one time, Tina," I snap back, recalling that God-forsaken event with this chick I had met, who was studying to be an Archaeologist. "And I did it for love."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Why are girls such bitches?

Sam is the first to exit the house, Mike following after, and they head straight to Quinn and Artie, both dudes mirroring puzzled expressions on their faces.

"Hey, Artie," Sam says. "Are there anymore disturbances on that camcorder up in the attic?"

"No," the bespectacled tech manager tells him, then turns to Quinn for confirmation. She shakes her head. "Why, is anything wrong?"

"We keep hearing shuffling noises," Mike reports. "They don't sound like feet sliding across the floor or anything, just kind of a pitter patter of sorts that we couldn't really identify. We've left a mini-DV up in the living room facing the photo frames because I think it moved on its own but we didn't have a camera pointing to it."

"How many hours of footage do we have on that?"

Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Probably an hour more."

"Finn, can you help change the tape?" Artie requests, which is kind of stupid because it's not like I can say no anyways.

"Sure."

Quinn reaches for a fresh tape, doodles a quick marking on the label and hands it to me. For a split second her soft skin brushes against mine. She probably doesn't notice it, but I can feel the sweat collecting in my palms. Damn, it's going to be a pain later when things start to slip off my grip. For safety purposes, I tuck the unopened tape into the front pocket of my pants.

"You all set, Finn?" Sam asks.

I nod my head. "Yeah."

"Good luck."

He gives me a dismissive slap on the back, and with that, I make my way towards the house. As I'm climbing up the steps to the porch, I can't help wondering why all the activity seems to be concentrated on the attic. It's a rather unexpected hotspot, considering there aren't any paranormal claims from our client regarding that particular area. Well, then again, I suppose if I were a babysitter, I wouldn't have any business to snoop around in the attic—dusty cobwebs and what not—so it seems possible to not realize of phenomenon going on up there.

Entering the living room, I switch on my flashlight to locate the camcorder and find it sitting on the side table beside the sofa. I squat down so that I'm leveled with it before replacing the old tape with the new one. My clammy hands are making it really difficult to slide the cassette into the holder, and the darkness doesn't really help either, and after three tries I'm starting to get a tad bit impatient. Frustrated, I wipe my palm on my clothes, which is a fucking waste because the tape slips out of my grasp anyway and falls through the crack between the furniture, cluttering loudly to the floor.

"Shit!"

Barely five minutes in and I'm a retarded mess.

I bend down to retrieve it, but then Artie radios in through the walkie-talkie.

"Central command to Finn."

"Damn it!" I curse out loud, reluctantly answering the call. "Finn to central command. What is it?"

"Are you alright in there?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I grumble in reply. There's no need to step on the guy who's already fallen flat on the ground. "It's tough to see, is all."

"Roger."

Carelessly tossing the walkie-talkie onto the couch, I get on all fours to pick up that damn tape that's still somewhere on the floor. Where the fuck is my flashlight? With a grunt, I lower myself down to lie flat on my belly, cocking my head to the side in search of the missing items. Okay, I think I can see the rectangular tape. I reach my hand out to grab it, my tongue sticking out of my mouth and it grazes my fingertips.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath.

The head cam isn't making the job any easier, too.

"Come on, come on."

There's a sound. Something is sliding across the surface.

It's muffled, sort of, coming from somewhere distant, and I freeze on the spot. Still on the floor, I roll over to survey the living room, but without my flashlight, I can't really see anything. The space is quiet again, but I wait for a moment longer. When nothing seems to be happening, I go back to retrieving the tape from underneath the sofa.

The sudden crackle of the walkie-talkie startles me.

"Jesus." We really need a subtler communicating device, something that won't give me a heart attack.

"Central command to Finn."

Oh, well now, send in the captain.

"Finn to central command," I snap back, in no mood to hide my annoyance. "What is it, Sam?"

"Why don't you just shift the damn sofa?" he tells me.

Huh.

"Roger," I mumble in reply. Smart-ass. I bet he's milking this right now, especially in front of Quinn. They're probably out there laughing about it and—

What the fuck was that?

Jumping to my feet, I easily shove the couch aside before snatching up the DV tape and clumsily sliding it into the camcorder, wondering why I hadn't been that competent sooner. And then I turn around; back towards the direction I thought I had seen a form of shadow darting out of a corner.

But it's gone.

Spying the digital audio recorder on the table, I bring it up to my mouth to begin the EVP session. Even though it had been running throughout, tagging a clip enables us to identify the sounds that don't belong to anyone on team. If an entity were to respond to direct questions, tagging also helps to distinct between our voices from something else.

"Camden House, Finn, living room, commencing EVP."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 11.45pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Are you okay, Quinn?"

Artie's sudden question—though quiet and rather personal—draws me away from my conversation with Tina. As I turn my attention to the pair, she gets the hint and wanders off to find Rachel and Mike. I know it's unethical to be eavesdropping on someone else's conversation, but something tells me this is kind of serious.

"Yeah," Quinn answers him with a nod of her head. "Why do you ask?"

"Call it an Empath thing, but I'm sensing a disturbance."

Okay, now I'm really interested.

"I think I'm getting some slight movement in the trees." Her melodic voice drops a notch, and I'm practically turning my body to hear her better. "It's probably just some animal, but I think—"

"We should get a thermal sweep of the premise, then," Artie says. "I was picking up on a faint energy earlier, but you just confirmed it for me."

I suppose this is a really good time for me to step in.

"Confirmed what for you?"

They whirled around in perfect sync, but neither one of them look shocked that I've been hearing in. Then again, the Empath/Psychic thing would be null if simple stuff like that didn't work. Quinn has a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow raised while Artie pushes his glasses higher up his nose.

"An energy signal," Artie calmly explains to me even though this isn't a normality during our investigations. "I've been getting really small spurts from the plantation all evening. I propose we set up some thermal imaging cameras and monitor them."

Before, Artie hadn't specially used his abilities during cases such as this one, but I'm confident enough to trust that he knows what he's doing, given the amount of experience he's had with the paranormal. Still, I'm obligated to make sure that we're not wasting resources unnecessarily. Even with an extra team member, we are still a bit short on manpower. I don't usually put investigators on duty to do surveillance because I need them to be on full alert in case something happens.

"Do you think we should probably just concentrate on the house?" I ask my technical manager.

"In other circumstances, I would," he tells me. "But I have a gut feeling that this will help in our investigation."

I avert my gaze to look at the newest addition to the group. "Quinn?"

"I don't see the harm in setting it up," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "Artie and I can only feel so much; it'll be good to have additional scientific back-up. I'm sure we can handle two more frames."

"Alright, then, I'll cover in-house surveillance with Mike while the both of you set the thermal up," I inform them, keeping up with the leadership demeanor. Can't have the rest thinking that I've gone soft now, can I? Don't want to be accused to favoritism, so I would still need to maintain some control even though I'm granting permission for something rather unorthodox.

Artie's eyes widened when he realizes what it means. "Thanks, Sam."

Quinn shoots me this breath-taking smile that just lights up her already-gorgeous face, and I have to remind myself that I'm not allowing this because I'm hopelessly in love with her. She must've read my thoughts because she blushes under the glare of the monitors and quickly springs up from her chair to proceed with her task. I signal Mike over.

"What's up, dude?" he asks, tilting his head when he notices Artie and Quinn heading for the rest of the equipment.

"I need your help manning this," I explain to him as I take a seat in Quinn's chair. Mike looks a little confused but doesn't question anything. "Artie and Quinn are setting up some thermal cameras facing the plantation. They sort of picked up on something and Artie feels it'll be good to see if there's anything we can catch."

"Oh, sure," Mike shrugs nonchalantly, pulling up another foldable chair for himself.

I turn my eyes to the screen in front of me, seeing Finn in two of the frames as he's conducting an EVP session. Leaning back in the seat, I fold my arms across my chest and focus on the banal task. A few minutes later, Artie wheels back to plug some cables into the back of the monitor. I shift my gaze away for a second to check on Quinn, and she's adjusting certain features on the thermal in her hands. Involuntarily, the corner of my lips twitches into a grin as I watch her at work, her silky soft hair falling over to cover half of her face. Goodness, I don't think I'll ever get over how beautiful she is, now more than ever, especially with the arrangement we've got going on.

She looks up all of a sudden, our eyes meeting, and she gives a little smile.

There's a small beep and two additional frames pop up on the monitors. Artie taps on some keys to optimize the settings and instantly I'm looking at the colored spectrums of the plantation.

"All good?" I ask.

"Yeah," Artie replies as he kind of shoos me off my seat. "Now run along—"

"Artie?" Quinn calls out all of a sudden. My head whips around to look at her but her eyes are still glued to the small screen on the device in her hands. "Are you getting this?"

Immediately turning back to the frames on the screen, I squint down at them, but Artie is quick to point to the one that she's referring to and blows it up to full size. There, among the blue and green hues, is a small speck of red poking out from behind a tree, just stationary, as though waiting, contemplating. Shifting my gaze back out into the blackened trees again, I strain my eyes to try and pick out anything relatively odd, not that it is doing much good, anyway. It's just too dark, so I walk up to stand beside Quinn. She's staring out in the direction of the figure—still burning red on the thermal—a thoughtful frown on her lips.

"Something's not right," she whispers. "I'm getting really weird vibes; I can't put a finger on it."

"What is it?"

She shrugs apologetically, tilting her head up to face me. "I don't know."

"I'm going to go check it out," I announce decisively, knowing that's the best—and most methodically effective—thing to do.

That seems to startle her a bit. "What?"

"I'm going to check it out," I repeat.

"But it might not be safe, and I can't—"

I reach up to cup her delicate face in the palms of my hands, cutting her off before she goes into a full-on rant, and I can't help the slow warmth that creeps in my heart knowing that she's worried for me, but a job's a job, and it's something I have to do.

"I'll be fine."

She sighs, slightly frustrated. "I just don't like not knowing what it is," she murmurs. "It could be dangerous or something."

"I'll be fine."

"I don't know that, and when I don't know that—"

"Quinn." She nervously gnaws on her bottom lip, her hypnotic eyes wide. "I'll be fine."

"Maybe I should go with you."

Okay, that's just suicidal. No way am I going to risk her in such a situation, more so when it's this unstable. Fixing her with a serious look, I trail my hands down to her shoulders. "You're doing no such thing, Quinn. I'm not gambling on this one."

"But—"

"No arguing," I tell her, asserting my authoritative power. "If it'll make you feel better, I'm taking Mike with me, okay?"

Reluctantly, Quinn nods her head, and I give her an assuring smile in return. She sets the thermal on the tripod, ensuring that it's secure before we head back to the group. Rachel and Tina had joined Mike and Artie in scrutinizing that obscure spot on the monitors, Finn completely forgotten. Poor dude.

"I'm going over to investigate," I inform the group, and then turn to Mike. "You're coming with me." He nods, as he always does and moves to grab some equipment. "Rachel and Tina, you two get ready for when Finn comes out, and proceed on with the investigation."

"Got it," Rachel echoes.

"Artie, when he does, send him for a short break and then I need him to start with audio analysis."

"Roger," my technical manager affirms.

"You ready?" I direct my question to Mike, pocketing an extra flashlight and a laser grid, in case we might need it.

"Yeah."

I'm not going to lie; I'm fucking nervous about this, and it's not necessarily a rare occasion, but this time, I feel like I'm stepping on unchartered grounds even though I've been at this for years. Sucking in a deep breath, I mentally count to five before releasing the air through my mouth, puffing my cheeks as I do. Just as I'm about to go, however, small, dainty fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, halting me in my tracks. Quinn steps up in front of me, looking really guilty.

"What's wrong?"

She lifts her head up to look me in the eyes, and damn that always gets me. "Be careful," she says softly, and then she's up on her toes and pressing a small kiss on the corner of my lips.

Good God.

Now my concentration is really going to screw up.

She's giving me a strange look. I think I must've given her some weird analogy in my head.

Damn, Evans, get it together.

"Thanks," I breathe out like a pathetic, lovesick puppy that I am.

Oh yeah, real smooth.

Mike gives an awkward cough, and I suppose that's my cue. Quinn playfully sticks her tongue out at my Asian partner, to which he reciprocated by tugging on her blonde hair.

Huh.

"Alright, alright," I jump in. "Let's go before you two start throwing grass at each other."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And yes, that shouldn't have taken me longer than it did, but again, I'm terribly sorry for the major setback in updating this. Thank you so much for the patience, guys, and please feel free to express any pent-up frustrations that you might have with me.

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! I hope I haven't lost my most loyal reader! Thank you so much for your review on the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I would love to do a fighting scene between Sam and Finn, I mean, that's going to be so funny, but I suppose that wouldn't look good for Sam since he's a leader and he's got to be an example for his team. Either way, will totally consider your suggestion nonetheless. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I truly appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, and that it's gotten the right reaction, LOL! It'll be totally awkward (not to mention an epic fail) if I'd be writing a sort-of scary story that's not scary at all. I'm glad you love all the scenes and interactions between the characters. There's more to the investigation than just the surface (hint, hint) so I can only hope it gets more interesting from here on :D Let me know what you think of this update (besides that it's way overdue)!

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I appreciate it a lot :D I'm glad that you've enjoyed it, too! I'm being a bit mean to Finn, I know, but he's such a fun character to play with, I just couldn't resist :P Let me know what you think about this chapter!

**Xvzgirl:** Hi! Thank you so much for leaving a review! Much appreciated!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Well, hello there! Welcome to my crazy world. LOL! Thank you so much for stopping by and reading and reviewing my story! I really appreciate your time, and it's always nice to hear from a new reader :D I'm glad you liked the different POVs. I felt that it would give some dynamics to the story, and it's always nice to explore the different characters. Please feel free to let me know that you think. All suggestions are completely welcome! Cheers!

**Nicole:** Hi there! Well, anybody who has taken the time to review, is never ignored by me, and I really appreciate you dropping by! For the record, writing all this sometimes scares the shit out of me for no particular reason too. I'd be writing at night and my cat would bump into something and I'd jump out of my seat. LOL! Please do not hesitate to drop me more reviews, too!


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: **Okay! So a quick spoiler: There aren't any Fabrevans scenes in this chapter, so you've been warned. LOL! Nonetheless, I hope you'll choose to stick around anyway and let me know what you think!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 31**

**Monday, 12.05am**

**/Sam Evans**

Mike and I head over, the beams from our flashlights trailed on the grass. It's important we don't spook anything, and when we're close enough to the spot, I click my torch off. Mike follows suit but keeps the hand-held camcorder trained ahead. We scout around for a bit until we find the exact tree. I start to circle it, careful with my steps, and notice how the area is dead silent. There's no movement, no crickets, nothing.

It's too bad that we can't radio central command to check on the thermal status. Sometimes, frequencies tend to mess up, and I don't want it interfering with Finn or any of the girls investigating in the house.

And then a branch breaks.

Whipping around, I see Mike pointing the camera towards the deeper tresses of the plantation. The green from the tiny screen illuminates his face, and his eyes are wide and alert. My first instinct is to look down at my feet, in case I had been the one to make the noise, but as I scuff my shoes, I don't hear anything but the soft rustling of grass. I check on Mike and he's signaling me with a tilt of his head.

"Over there," he murmurs.

Another twig snaps.

My first thought is that perhaps there's an animal—a fox or a squirrel—but there's something deliberate about how these sounds are made. "Do you see an animal in the night vision?"

Mike double-checks the camcorder again. "Negative."

"Okay," I nod. Turning the flashlight back on, I shine it down on the ground. If we can find the branch, then maybe we can try and figure something out. "Shit, someone needs to give this a mow. It's like finding a needle in a haystack."

Using the night vision to his advantage, Mike helps with the search. It occurs to me that we're probably fighting a losing battle with this hunt for the illusive branches, and that we ought to start on an EVP session because it's not like we have the luxury of time to search the entire land.

Something cracks.

Mike freezes in his tracks. He turns his head around to look at me.

"It came from beside me."

Immediately, I flick my torch over.

"The other side," he hisses.

I beam down at the tree and walk over so that I'm standing beside him, and then I notice a rather huge chunk had been ripped off from the bark. Running my fingers around the edges, I can't tell if it's recent or not, but I reckon it might have been what had caused the sound.

"Erm…Sam?"

"What?"

"Something is tugging on my right arm," he says, ever the calm dude, not flinching. "Can you check to make sure my sleeve isn't caught on anything?"

I motion for the camcorder and he gingerly passes it over. Focusing the lens on the sleeve of his flannel shirt, I shine my torch up into the leaves, but there isn't anything—no spider webs or hanging insects—in his way. "I don't see anything, dude."

"It stopped," he informs me, and then turns a full circle to inspect his clothes before gesturing for the mini-DV. "The moment you spoke, the tugging stopped."

And then there's a thump.

"What the fuck is going on here?" I wonder out loud. "Are you trying to get our attention?" I ask. "If you are, you've got it. We're not here to hurt you. I'm Sam, and my friend here is Mike. You touched him seconds ago. If you're here, and you want to say something, can you make a sound?"

For a full four seconds, nothing happens.

"Did you hear that?"

I shake my head. "Hear what?"

"Like a whistle."

"Like someone whistling? Or—"

"It was high-pitched, like when you want to whistle for a cab."

That has to be the most interesting reply I've ever gotten. Usually, a response would sound like a knock or a bang, or sometimes a syllable—never really a whistle. "If that was you that Mike heard, could you do it a little louder, please?"

Barely a beat later, I hear it.

"Holy crap."

Mike looks stunned, his mouth hanging open.

"I want to try something," I say, pulling out the Ovilus from my pocket. "We're going to put this to the test, and maybe something might come up."

"Good idea," Mike agrees.

Switching the device on, I hold it up so that we can capture it on the camcorder. There's no exact way to test its credibility yet, so I'm not exactly sure what to expect, but the idea is simple. The device translates electromagnetic waves into sounds. Whether or not it actually works is something else altogether.

"Is anybody here with us who would like to communicate?" I call out. "We have here a device that—"

"Box."

My eyes dart over to Mike and we exchange confused glances.

"I'm sorry, would you mind repeating that for—"

"Box."

"One more time please—"

"Box."

"Okay." So this is slightly an out-of-the-body experience—second in ranking after the whole dream walking shit with Quinn—to be able to interact with such clarity. It's skeptical when something occurs just once, but when it happens on cue for the next couple of times, it has to be more than coincidence. "What is it about the box? Is it yours? Where can I find it?"

The Ovilus makes some static noises for a bit.

"Tree."

Mike arches an eyebrow. "There are plenty of trees here."

"Tree."

"Can you tell us specifically which tree?"

More static noises, and then it goes silent.

"Tree."

It startles us for a moment.

"I'm sorry, but you really need to help us a little but more here," Mike says, scanning his eyes across the darkness while keeping the camcorder steady on the Ovilus. This is a breakthrough for us, and one that I'm sure our client would be thrilled with.

"Why don't we try something else?" I suggest, because clearly this isn't working. "We're going to go to the tree, and let us know—yes or no—if we're standing by the correct one. Please reply a 'yes' if you understand."

A short pause.

"Yes."

I nod at Mike, and right about now, I can feel the slight acceleration of my heartbeat. Swallowing the growing lump in my throat, I dart my tongue out to wet my lips before taking tentative steps to the right. "Is this it?"

"No."

I move over to the next one and repeat the question.

"No."

"Are we close?"

Another pause.

"No."

I'm starting to think that someone—or something—is playing a trick on us, or perhaps the Ovilus is faulty. Mike lets out a sigh, and I'm sure he's got the same idea on his mind. It's as if we're listening to a Magic 8-Ball. Turning the device in my hands, I switch it off and on again.

"Look, we want to help you, really, we do," I speak up. "If you can give us directions—"

"Tree."

This isn't going to work, so it's time for another method, because first of all, I don't even know whom I'm addressing, or what the link is to the supposed hauntings in the house. All I can tell from this is that we have a box to find in the midst of all the trees. I'm assuming this so-called box belongs to whom we're communicating with.

"What's your name?" I ask. "And what is your connection to the property? Are you the one responsible for the hauntings in the house?"

The silence engulfs the plantation once more.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry on your personal details," I say. "But we're here to help a friend. Does the box you're referring to have anything to do with the house?"

"Did it once belong to you?"

We wait with bated breaths.

"Yes."

Okay, at least we're going somewhere.

"Did you die here?"

"Yes."

Even through the monotonous computerized voice, I can hear a hint of melancholy, and it catches me off guard for a second.

"What's your name?" Mike asks.

We don't get a reply for a full minute, so I'm starting to think whoever it is doesn't want us to know. "The box," I add in. "What's inside?"

"Picture."

Mike snaps his head up to look at me, his face lighting up. A photo—even just one—can help so much in solving this case.

"Can you make a sound to lead us to the tree?"

It's instantaneous.

Another branch breaks from nearby.

"From my left," Mike tells me. "We've been going at it in the wrong direction."

Oh, crap.

He walks ahead of me, heading towards the sound.

"Stop."

Okay.

"Tree."

I shine my flashlight at it—nothing remotely special about the tree—and go around it to find for this mysterious box lying around. "I don't see anything. Mike?"

"Nothing on the night vision, either," he answers. "Could it be in the tree? Or under the tree? Or in the ground around the tree? On top of the tree?"

I'm starting to feel like I'm on an Easter Egg hunt—a wild goose chase—without an end. Grumbling in slight annoyance, I kick the tree trunk.

"It's hollow."

I scrunch my eyebrows together. "What?"

"The tree is hollow," Mike repeats, and this time, he jabs his foot against the bark to show me. Raising one hand, he knocks on the spot at eye-level. "The bottom is hollow, but the top part isn't."

I test his deduction a couple of times, and he's absolutely right.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" he winks at me.

"We need to find an opening."

That said, it's of course a lot easier if we're not nosing around in the darkness. Catching the flashlight between my teeth, I feel around for odd edges in the tree. When that doesn't help shit, I start to gently push and prod. The only thing missing is a cheesy stethoscope, and I'll look like a ridiculous Sherlock Holmes.

"You do realize that you look ridiculous, right?" Mike teases as he points the mini-DV my way.

"Shut up."

My hand sinks in all of a sudden, creating an indent for a corner to pop out. For a splitting moment, Mike and I exchange identical, surprised looks. Frankly, I'm not sure what we had been expecting, but all of a sudden the reality of the situation starts to sink in.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

Adding a bit more pressure to the crack, it makes a coarse, rattling noise before a hole emerges. It's not a big opening, and when I can't push on any further, I shine my torch inside just so I don't end up with a snake bite or something when I put my hand in. My arm barely makes it through, and as I'm searching around, the hollow goes deeper in, practically all the way up to my shoulders before I reach what I'm looking for. The tips of my fingers graze across a man-made surface, and with one final shove, I secure the object in my grasp.

Carefully, I extract the box out of the tree.

Mike and I both gape at it.

"We need to get this back to central command."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 12.50am<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

We've been in the house for half an hour now and so far, it's been a bit of a drag. Activity is practically non-existent in here. Tina and I have covered the basement all the way up to the bedrooms, investigating everything from EVPs to debunking claims to experimenting on the possibilities, and we haven't managed to experience anything that the guys had. To say that it's baffling would be an understatement.

Not once did we hear any shuffling—or movements for that matter—and we've tried everything in the book. I knew I should've stuck with my case on attaining live audio feed. I'm going to blame this on incredibly bad timing, but as Tina and I park ourselves up in the attic, I don't see any chance of it being any different. Making a quick check of the stationary camcorder and satisfied that it's still upright and running, I do a quick sweep of the dusty area with my flashlight.

"Should we do an EVP session?" Tina suggests as she perches on a random box by the door.

"You know what, I think we should just sit here for a while."

She tilts her head dubiously. "Oh? Why?"

"Maybe we're going at this all wrong," I theorize, slowing pacing the length of the room. "The entity seems to only appear when Sugar is around, and she's a teenager. What if the entity is a scared little girl who just wants a friend?"

Still, Tina remains skeptical. "What about that black shadow she caught? It doesn't look like a kid to me."

"Good point."

"It seemed to be really active earlier on when the guys are inside," she remarks, tapping a finger thoughtfully on her chin. "Maybe the entity isn't comfortable with men around, and it's trying to drive them away."

Shaking my head, I reply, "no, that wouldn't be right with Sugar's claims then."

"So why did the activity just suddenly stop?"

I loathe not knowing the answer, which is quite an irony considering I'm investigating the unknown. A quick glimpse down at my wristwatch indicates that we've been in the house for a full forty minutes, and I'm beginning to wonder about the rest of the team outside. Regardless of my duties, I can't help but scorn at the lack of attention given to Tina and I.

So Quinn and Artie feels something with their Empath/Psychic Medium powers, and Sam just trusts them? Don't get me wrong; I fully believe that my team leader knows what he's doing, but our investigations rely on solid evidences to present to our clients. Sure, we've captured some unidentified blob on the thermal, but what if something else happens? Now we have two pairs of investigators out, two to ensure surveillance and one pathetic back up, and there's no way I'm trusting my safety in Finn Hudson's hands.

"Should we radio back to central command?" Tina's voice interrupts my internal dialogue. "Nothing seems to be happening up here."

"Good idea."

Whipping out the walkie-talkie from the back pocket of my pants, I call out for Artie. It gives an annoyingly loud crackle—seriously, we need to invest in one that wouldn't wake up the dead—before my technical manager replies.

"Central command to Rachel."

"Artie, it seems that activity has ceased in here," I report professionally. "We've covered all possible areas and more, but we have yet to receive a response. Awaiting advice for our next move."

"Jeez, Rach, you don't have to sound so formal," Artie snickers as I frown at his lack of seriousness. "Hang on, let me pass you over to Sam."

"Why does he always do that?" I hiss. Tina shrugs her shoulders but doesn't offer a comment.

"Rachel?"

"I hear you, Sam."

"I want you to be in there alone for a while and see if anything happens. Sit in the living room where Sugar had seen the shadow. Act like you would normally do when you're at home. I'm hoping that there'll be more chances of something happening."

Oh, wow.

I've never had the opportunity to investigate alone before, and it's a prospect that excites and scares me at the same time. I'm flattered, really, that my team leader has so much faith in me to carry out such an important task. I know appointing Finn for the solo investigation was a sore mistake, and I suppose Sam must've realized it too. Either way, I'm willing to overlook that minor lapse in judgment if it means it'll contribute to the goodwill of this case.

Squaring my shoulders, I promptly speak into the walkie-talkie. "It would be my pleasure, Sam."

"Great! Over and out."

Tina turns to me with a comforting expression and gently places her hand on my shoulder. "You sure you're going to be alright alone?"

Nodding my head, I fix the most reassuring smile I can muster. It feels a bit constipated, but the sudden attack of butterflies fluttering in my stomach makes it difficult to stay calm. Tina must've sensed it because her eyes widen momentarily in panic.

"Rachel, breathe."

Is it totally hypocritical of me to say that I'm glad we don't have live audio running?

"Breathe," she repeats. "You can do this."

"Uh-huh," I manage to squeak out, taking deep, long breaths. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." Even to my ears, it doesn't sound convincing, so I daintily clear my throat. "Yes, I'm sure. I can do this."

She studies my face for a second, and then decides to believe me. "Alright, then. We're just outside if you need anything, and you know that we're watching, so I'm going out now. Be safe."

With a final smile full of encouragement, Tina gives me another pat on my arm before exiting out of the door.

Here we go.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 1.15am<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

"Any luck on the lock?" Mike asks as he comes over to sit beside me on the hood of my car.

"Not really," I grunt, still preoccupied with the task that Sam had given me. Squinting hard at the tiny hole on the side of the box—the one that they had apparently found during their side investigation—I slip two ends of a paperclip into the small opening and start poking around.

Lock picking is a secret talent I have—one of the many, at least—and of course I've volunteered to help. Brownie points, remember? Maybe this time I'll finally be able to impress Quinn with something that perfect Sam can't do.

"Are you positive we can't just smash this thing into pieces with a hammer?" I say sarcastically.

Mike chuckles good-naturedly and shakes his head. "No can do, dude. Besides, we don't know if there's more to just pictures in that box. If there's some priceless item in there, we don't want to damage it."

Trust the Asian guy to be the voice of logic.

"Fine," I grumble, getting back to work.

A few feet away, Sam and Tina are making a head start on analysis, and God, I'm just glad that I don't have to be stuck with that. Quinn and Artie are still monitoring the cameras in the house as Rachel continues with the investigation. So far, there hasn't been any drastic progress or major activity going on in the house, so it's relatively quiet—almost too quiet, in fact.

"Maybe you need a screwdriver," Mike points out. "I'm sure we've got some smaller ones lying around."

"Huh."

"Want me to grab them for you?" he offers.

"Could you? Thanks."

He wanders off, and I'm wishing for some plasticine right about now because even though the headlights from the car are bright as hell, I can't see shit. If I can get some modeling clay, it will be a ton easier to tell where the gears are on the locking mechanism. I know, impressive, right? And my mom used to tell me that dreaming of becoming an escape artist is a fucking waste of my time—of course, cussing not included.

Mike returns with an offset, a ratchet and a paper scorer—wonder where he got that one from—and sets them down next to the box.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

He leaves me to do my job in peace as I mess around with the tools. Frankly, I'm not even going to bother about my workmanship. If I have to break the damn thing, I will do it.

I hear laughter all of a sudden, and make a terrible mistake of looking over because I get the pleasure of witnessing Sam flirt with Quinn all over again. Sarcasm, yes. He's traded his post with Mike and is now doing some lame version of James Bond in a pathetic attempt at humoring her. Okay, so maybe attempt isn't the right word, because he's actually succeeding. That motherfucker.

And then something happens.

I hear a click.

The box is open.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So! What kind of photo do you think is in the box? Any guesses? LOL! Okay, so I know you guys waited so long, only to be conned into reading this when there aren't any Fabrevans scenes in this update, and I am really, really sorry for it, but please do review anyway. I'm up for some ranting, really. Tell me the chapter is shit, or whatever, really, I'm okay with it, but be gentle :P I promise you the next chapter will have the right amount of Fabrevans in it.

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi there! Yes, I know it's been very, very long, and I apologize for my tardiness. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I truly appreciate it! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Alli2345:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Hopefully you've enjoyed this one too!

**Mandorac:** Whee! Hi, hi! It's always so nice to receive reviews from you! I've missed reading your fanfics too! I have read your latest Fabrevans one-shot (Spark) and I have yet to review it, but I'll do so as soon as I've posted this up! Absolutely love it, by the way! Amazing, as always! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I'm glad to know that I'm not being pressured! LOL! Yeah, but I don't like leaving things half done, and I have two more stories in tow, so I really need to get my ass in gear. Hehe! I know that there aren't any Fabrevans scenes in this chapter, and I did try to slot it in somewhere, but I couldn't find the right timing for it, but I hope you've enjoyed it nonetheless!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! It's always such a pleasure to receive reviews from you! Thank you so much for your time reading and reviewing my stories time and again! I really appreciate it! Awwww…you're such a sweetheart! Thank you so much for your concern! Now I feel all warm and tingly inside! Hehe! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

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**QuamFabrevansshipper4ever:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and leaving wonderful comments! I'm really flattered :D –blush- Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Nicole:** Hi, hi! LOL! I would never dare to give up on a story. If I do, I'll definitely leave an author's note either way, but my stories are my babies, and I wouldn't like to abandon them, so no worries there. Thank you so much for reading—and checking back on my story—and leaving wonderful comments! It's always a great motivation! I love the fandom, and I truly want to do justice to the characters, so that's definitely one factor to ensure that I always give my best! LOL! I fangirl everytime I receive a review from her! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: **Here's an update! And to make up for the lack of Fabrevans in the previous chapter, I'm going to start this off with some Sam and Quinn!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 32**

**Monday, 2.35pm**

**/Sam Evans**

My cell phone starts vibrating in my pocket while I'm in the middle of a lecture. Discreetly, so as not to draw any attention to myself, I pull it out to check on the caller I.D.

Quinn Fabray.

Her name flashes on the screen, blinking with an uncanny sense of emergency. Alarm bells go off in my head and instantly I can only assume the worst. What other possible reason is there for her to interrupt a class? I slip out of the auditorium, barely making it out of the door before answering the call.

"Quinn?"

"Sam!" Her voice is breathy and low; the way she's saying my name—husky and melodious—sends a rush of heat down my spine. God, it's astounding how she always manages to affect me in ways I can't comprehend. "Where are you?"

My brows furrow in confusion. "In class."

"Oh, shoots! I'm so sorry," she apologizes, now sounding flustered. "It's okay, I'll talk to you later, then."

"No, wait," I blurt out before she can hang up on me. "Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," she answers, the anxiousness mellowing down somewhat. "No worries; it can wait till later."

"No, no, tell me now," I insist. There is absolutely no way I'll be able to concentrate on anything else after this, more so if I'm not able to find out what's causing her jitters.

She hesitates for a second or two.

"I think I've found a crucial piece of evidence to your dreams."

No shit.

"You're kidding. What is it?"

"Okay, well, you know the photograph that we've found in the box?" She pauses then, and I hum a reply. "Let's just say I might know who the lady in photograph is."

I think my jaw just fell to the floor. "What? How?"

"Clairsentience."

She just lost me there. "Huh?"

"Look, it's kind of tough to explain it to you right now—"

"I'll meet you in the headquarters in ten."

"But didn't you just say you were in class?"

I'm already making my way back into the lecture theatre to retrieve my stuff. "Screw it, I'm going over."

The professor doesn't even bat an eyelash as I swiftly gather my notes and backpack, and ditch the last half hour altogether. Whatever the assignment, I'll get it later on. It's not like I'm a model student anyways. Sprinting across campus, I manage to make it to the room in five minutes flat—a new personal record—and honestly, I don't think I've ever ran that fast before. I'm still catching my breath when Quinn strides in, beautiful and flawless as always.

"Are you training for the Olympics or something?" she smirks, setting her tote bag and binder on the table by my computer.

"Or something," I return playfully, shamefully aware of the idiotic grin on my face. I can't help certain bodily reactions, and it's been eleven hours since I've last seen her, so maybe it's the hormones kicking in on autopilot.

She rolls her eyes, but the pretty smile never leaves her lips. "Alright, so I've managed to convince Mike to grant me a quick access to the police records, but he says that we can't use the school's I.P address or they'll be able to trace us down. We need an unsecured wireless network, so I'm going to meet him at a café just outside of campus before we come back for the evidence analysis. Is that okay with you?"

I'm too busy staring at her—entranced by the passion flaming in her gorgeous eyes—that it takes me a full three seconds to understand that she's just asked me a question.

"Yeah, of course," I cough out. "Sure."

"He is already starting on some initial research for the case," Quinn goes on, flipping through the papers in her folder. "But I asked if I could make a copy of the photograph, and he didn't mind it, so he hands it over to me." Producing said photo out of a clear plastic sleeve, she carefully slides it over so that I can have a better look.

"And then something happened." Her tone drops to a whisper.

I snap my eyes up to meet hers.

"I had a flash, like an image in my head," she quietly explains. "There had been a flood at the plantation. She drowned in the house."

"What? How can you know that?"

"Clairsentience, or Psychometry—whichever, the terminology is vague at the moment—is an ability tell the history of an object just by touching it. In this case, it's the photograph."

Okay, that's just beyond cool.

"So you were able to see the past?"

She shrugs modestly. "To some extent."

"What else did you see?" I prod on as I scrutinize on the picture in my hand, holding it up inches in front of my nose in hopes of locating clues pertaining to the case.

Quinn takes a moment, frowning in concentration. She does that thing where she gnaws on her bottom lip, turning it into a darker shade of pink, and I can't help staring. Damn, the things I want to do to those lips. Subconsciously, thoughts of the many times I've had the privilege of kissing her starts flooding in my head.

"Sam!"

The photograph slips from my fingers and jolts me out of my fantasies.

"Sorry, what?"

Her cheeks are flushed red as she reaches up to nervously tuck some loose strands of her blonde hair behind one ear. "You're doing it again," she gently chastises.

I'm about to clarify with her what she means when she shoots me a look, and it dawns on me. Right, special psychic abilities. "Oh!" I cough out sheepishly, having been caught again, because how many fucking times does it take for me to get it? "I—erm—"

"If you want to kiss me, all you have to do is ask."

Yeah, okay—wait—what?

Quinn takes a peek up at me through her long lashes, and whatever she's seeing on my face must be real funny. She giggles, this shy, tinkling sound, and it's taking slower than usual to process her words in my stalling brain.

"Sam?"

Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?

"Sorry," I apologize again, feeling like a total egghead. "It's just—I—sorry—you look—"

I don't even get to the important part before she cuts me off, standing on the tips of her toes to lightly brush her soft lips against mine. A rush of adrenaline snowballs down and hits me in the chest, exploding down to the tips of my toes in a catapult of fireworks. As colorful as the description, though, nothing—and I mean nothing—can fully describe what it feels like to be kissing Quinn Fabray.

Capturing the softness of her mouth between my own, I trail my hands up to cup her porcelain face, relishing in the silky smoothness of her skin against my fingers. She gives my shirt a sharp tug and a gasping sigh escapes from her throat as our bodies collide. Without releasing her grip on my shirt, she angles her head for better access. And then I feel her warm tongue tracing the outer contours of my lips, and my mind goes blank.

And she knows that.

Because a split second later, I'm bombarded with a dreadful scene—a tragedy of sorts—and there's gushing water all around, blurring my vision. A faint gurgling noise is heard from faraway, drowned by the constant splashing and lapping of running currents.

Am I drowning?

Fuck, where am I?

"Sam, breathe."

Quinn's familiar, assuring murmurs explain everything I need to know. She wants me to see it—to see what she had seen—the story behind the photograph, but there's barely anything as the scene fades into darkness, and I snap my eyes open.

"Shit," I wheeze out. "Shit, that was terrifying."

"Did you see it?" she asks, her hazel orbs wide and inquisitive. Her dainty palms cradle the sides of my face, her thumb drawing soothing circles across my jaw.

"Was that what you saw?"

"More or less."

"Jesus, how do you do it?" I wonder out loud, still reeling from the experience. It was one hell of a ride for sure.

She smiles, but I know she doesn't really mean it. "After a while, it just stops feeling personal."

Unable to stop myself, I lean in for another kiss—a quick one to let her know that I'm here if she needs anything—and it feels good to be able to do that.

"But that's not it," she adds on, turning back to rifle through the pieces of paper in her binder, and I know the moment has passed. "So I did some research on floods that had occurred in the plantation and found out that there had been one in 1962," she says, showing me a printout of an old newspaper article with a grungy black-and-white picture attached. "Before the Camden House was built, it had originally been called The Roseanne House, named after—"

"The woman in the photograph," I finish her sentence.

"Exactly," she nods before fishing out a separate piece of document. "Notice anything off about this picture?"

I study the new article in my hand—this one dated about three months before—with an image of Roseanne smiling as she stood in front of a simple two-storey Victorian house. Perhaps it's the bad pixilation or something, but I can't pick out anything relatively odd about the photo.

"Not really, well, except that the trees aren't as many as it is now."

She quirks an eyebrow. "Want to know why?"

I tilt my head questioningly.

"Because when the flood came, it washed the house away," she goes on to explain. "When Camden House was built, it wasn't on the exact location."

"And you managed to deduce that by looking at this photograph?"

With a victorious grin, she pulls out another piece of article. "They were unable to build the house on the same grounds because the soil was too soft and unstable," she reads, pointing out the paragraph for me to refer to. "So Camden House was built at approximately three hundred feet away from where Roseanne House was."

Which is exactly where we've found the box last night.

"Okay, but that still doesn't tie in with my dreams."

Quinn brandishes another printout, this time a close-up of a front porch. "That's the Roseanne House."

"Sure…"

I still don't get it.

"Look what's on the door."

Fuck my life.

"One forty-two."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 4.10pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"Thank you so much for helping me with this, Mike," Quinn gushes as she slides into the empty booth in front of me, plopping her backpack down on the seat next to her.

Glancing up from my laptop, I shoot her an easy smile. "Don't mention it."

"I owe you, like, big time," she chuckles good-naturedly.

I wave it off and return to typing out codes into my computer, because when she had initially asked for this weird favor, I hadn't expected anything in return. Quinn is a cool girl, and we're friends, so I trust her with whatever it is that she needs. Regardless of her extraordinary abilities, she's one smart cookie, and I've never met a girl who's so perceptive. Okay, so maybe she has some unfair advantage on her side, but I know it takes so much more to demand access to confidential police records.

Not to say I've never had my fair share of illegal possession of classified information, but I'm careful enough to ensure that I don't get caught. It's just my own incessant need to dig into the deepest hole I can find till I finally get to the end of the tunnel, and my perfectionist Asian roots. The fact that Quinn's going through all that trouble, I suppose it has to be something important.

"Alright, I'm logged in," I announce, shifting the laptop so that it's facing her. "You have approximately three minutes before the system detects a breech and shuts me out."

"Good," she nods curtly. "That's all I need."

I decide to leave her to it as she diligently taps on the keys, her sole focus on the screen, and start flipping through the list of research I've done on the Camden House case. There's nothing too interesting about the history of the plantation. There had been a flood—no surprise there; drainage systems weren't exactly the most advanced technology around—and a woman, Roseanne Walters, had apparently drowned. There's no mention of a husband or anything, although there's about two words that describes she's married—no children—but no names either, which is peculiar to say the least.

"Okay, I'm done," Quinn declares, plugging a thumb drive out of the USB port. "Thank you so much, Mike."

"Seriously, Quinn, no worries," I chuckle before retrieving my laptop back to log out of the system, and clear my cookies, history and cache. Hacking into the main system, I locate the link for recycled trash and delete those too. You can never be too sure of the traces left behind on a computer. "What project are you working on anyway? It's practically detective work."

She fumbles with her bag, digging into nothing to appear busy, and I know she's avoiding the topic. I mean, come on, I'm a trained investigator. If there's one thing I'm really good at, it'll be reading into the smaller details.

"Oh, you know, it's something personal," she mumbles.

I narrow my eyes suspiciously, leaning forward with my elbows on the tabletop. "You're not in trouble, are you?"

"What? No!" she's quick to reply. "Nothing like that at all. I just need some information."

It's best I don't push it, then, since it's really none of my business. I try not to pry into people's lives as much as possible; it's just not my style, so I nod in understanding. Besides, we need to get going, anyways. There's a ton of digital analysis to sort through and I'm sure Sam wouldn't appreciate it so much if we show up late—more so if I show up late with Quinn Fabray in my company.

"Alright, so maybe we should get going, then?" I ask, breaking the awkwardness.

"Yeah, we should," she immediately agrees and jumps to her feet in a scurry, almost knocking herself on the table.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

She seems flustered enough without me calling on her bluff, so I push my questions aside and start dumping my stuff into my haversack. It isn't until we're out of the café that she grabs my wrist to stop me.

"Listen, I really do appreciate your help," she tells me sincerely, those beautiful eyes shining with a mixture of gratitude and guilt. "It's just, there are certain things that I can't tell you yet because I've made a promise."

Why is she telling me this?

My face softens, and I feel my confusion slip away. "Quinn, you don't owe me an explanation."

"I feel like I do," she goes on as she sort of shuffles her feet from side to side, drawing imaginary patterns on the concrete pavement. "You're a great friend, Mike Chang."

"Thank you, it means a lot."

"It's your life, you know." Her voice drops a notch and her expression is hard to read, but I'm not sure what she's talking about, though. "Don't let your dad's opinions of your passion for the paranormal stop you from pursuing it."

What the hell?

"How—how'd you know about that?"

"You let me in," she replies almost too nonchalantly, as though we're discussing the weather or something. "The moment you trusted me, you let me in."

"You read my thoughts?"

"I wasn't trying to," she smirks. "You kind of screamed it in my head."

Oh, damn.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, Quinn. I didn't mean to—"

"No, that's okay," she reassures me with a smile. "It means you know what it feels like to hide something that means so much to you."

We settle into this comfortable silence, just standing along the street staring at each other.

"You'll tell me if you get into trouble, right, Quinn?"

"I wouldn't be able to hide it from you."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 4.45pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Okay, what the fuck?

Did I just see Quinn and Mike together?

Like, together, together?

Walking out of a café?

Seriously?

What the fuck?

I dart behind a pillar, peeking my head out and watch as Mike takes a step closer to her and wraps his Asian arms around my precious Quinn. A million murderous scenarios run through my head, and a million more ways in which I can cause excessive harm to his scrawny ass bombards down to my fists. I feel a hot surge spread all over like wildfire, and I'm so close to actually marching over to sock the dude in the face. The only thing stopping me, is knowing it'll ruin an chance I have with the blonde Empath.

After what feels like an eternity—which I'm sure lasts for just mere seconds—they break apart and continue their way, probably back to campus, and the first thing that comes to mind is whether or not they were on a date. It stings to think so, like a stab to my heart, but then I think of Sam Evans. A part of me wants to do backflips on the road because if my suspicions are true, then it's a ton easier to take down someone who isn't an authoritative figure in the team.

I'm practically a catch as compared to the Changster. I mean, I'm bigger and better in so many ways; he can't always hide behind his smarts and overachievements. Brains can't make up for everything else.

Glancing down at my watch, I figure I should hurry over to the headquarters. If I'm lucky enough, maybe I'll be able to reach in time to witness the look on Sam's face when Mike comes in with Quinn in his arms. For all it's worth, I might actually enjoy it.

I know a shortcut—you would too if you're somehow always late for something—and make a quick walk over, reaching in under five minutes. I'm probably being a douche, grinning like a madman when I enter the room. As predicted, Sam is already seated at his desk.

"Hey, man," he greets casually.

"Hey," I return, hoping I don't sound too enthusiastic about his impending misery.

Rachel strolls in a minute later with Tina in tow.

"My, my, Finn," Rachel mocks, sauntering towards me. "Did you finally figure out how to tell the time?"

Bitch.

Usually, her taunting comments would bother me some, but not today. "Did you finally come up with that yourself?"

She glares at me for a moment, then scoffs and retreats to her own station.

And then Mike walks in, behind him none other than Quinn Fabray.

Leaning back on my chair, I fold my arms across my chest and wait for the show to begin.

"Hi, guys," Mike nods as Quinn gives a small wave.

A chorus of replies echo around the room, and I hold my breath as Sam looks up from his screen. "Hey, Mike," he chirps, but then his gaze shifts to the blonde goddess. "Quinn."

"Sam."

I watch the exchange in fascination, wondering if he's even aware of what's going on.

"How did it go?" he asks with a slight tilt of his head towards Mike's direction, the bitterness non-existent in his tone.

Oh, so he knows?

Wait—what the hell?

He knows about the date?

And he's not even the least bit upset about it?

Maybe I'm reading this all wrong.

Craning my neck, I try to observe them from over my monitor just as Quinn leans forward to whisper in Sam's ear, her face just lighting up like a Christmas tree. I switch my attention over to Mike, and he doesn't even seem jealous at the intimate moment. My head is starting to spin; it's all a little twisted to me—like some fucked-up threesome between them.

Let me get this straight: Sam had known that Quinn was on a date with Mike and he's fine with that?

What is this? _Twilight_?

And where do I fit into this? Am I even in the running?

I'm jolted back to the present when Artie wheels through the door, and then it's down to business. Sam gives a quick briefing before allocating the specific jobs. Of course I'm stuck with audio analysis again—the bane of my existence—but before I can open my mouth to protest, he assigns Quinn to lend me a hand.

Sweet.

Maybe I can ask her about the date.

She catches my eye and smiles in that amazing way that has never once failed to melt me into a puddle of goo. It's pathetic, really—the prospect itself questions my alpha male masculinity—but she's the only girl who's managed to do that to me. God, I'm pussy-whipped even before we're together.

After Sam dismisses the group to work on their respective tasks, I take my notebook and a pen, and grab the digital recorders from the equipment case before making a beeline for my temporary partner. She notices my presence at once and glances up from her writing pad.

"Hi, Finn."

"Hi, Quinn," I smoothly reply. "Want to head over to the bigger table?"

She doesn't even throw Sam a backward glance before agreeing. "Yeah, sure."

Take that, Evans.

Quinn occupies the chair next to me, and in that proximity, I can smell her sweet, heavenly scent. My palms start clamming up again—like an annoying disease—that I have to wipe them furiously on my jeans before I end up dropping something I can't afford.

"So, you ready for this?" It's my sorry attempt at sparking a conversation.

"Sure, but you don't sound too enthusiastic about it," she jokes.

"It's not the most exciting part of an investigation," I admit with a snort.

Personally, I don't find my statement funny at all, but she's laughing and it's not even condescending or patronizing. Damn, I really think I'm in love with this woman.

She stretches one hand out to me, signaling for the audio recorder, and as I hand it to her, our fingers brush against one another. I'm not sure if she doesn't realize it or anything, but I'm pretty damn certain she can hear my heartbeat racing with how loudly it's thumping. For all it's worth, she doesn't seem to notice it as she plugs her headphones to the device.

I follow suit, and studying the label on the recorder, I reference it to the location written on the page in my notebook.

The attic.

Nice.

So I get on with it, increasing the volume of my noise-cancelling headphones and start listening. Half an hour into it and I'm fast filling up the spaces on my notepad, it's insane. There's constantly movement even though none of us had been in the attic. I don't even know what I'm hearing anymore.

I catch some movement from the corner of my eye, and then Quinn's leaning in to read the chicken scratch on my page. Automatically, I pull my headphones off, giving her my full attendance.

"Wow, that's interesting," she remarks, raising her eyebrows in an impressed manner.

"Yeah," I say, suddenly breathless from having her so close to me, and when I turn to face her, I'm able to bask in her true beauty. In the short distance, her milky skin looks so inviting, the soft angle of her nose just perfect, and her rosy lips are so tempting; it literally takes all of me not to just swoop in and kiss her. "You want to have a listen?"

"Sure."

I seriously hope that my hands aren't shaking too much as I pass my headphones on to her, feeling like a million dollars at the thought of having her wear something of mine. I guess that's how it feels like every time I watch one of those movies when a woman wakes up from a night of sex clad in her man's clothes.

That's fucking hot.

I'm unaware of my blatant ogling until Quinn snaps her fingers mere inches from my nose, looking slightly harassed and offended.

"The recording," she tersely reminds me, to which I fumble embarrassingly with the equipment for a second before replaying it for her. "Okay, yeah," she says after a minute or so and takes the headphones off. "Sounds legit to me."

"Anything paranormal, you think? I mean, you seem more familiar with disembodied sounds and voices than anybody here."

Quinn weighs her words first before answering, though she doesn't really get to speak up before Rachel's annoying voice rings throughout the room.

"I think I might just catch whatever it was that had been making all that noise in the attic last night," she squeals, clapping her hands together.

I absolutely hate it when she does that, like a three-year-old high on a gallon of sugar after receiving news that Santa was visiting. It's shrill and unnecessary, and not to mention a hazard to my delicate ears, but unfortunately for me, she is just getting started.

"And you're not going to believe it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So, there it is! My humble update! I hope the story speaks for itself at the moment, and that I wouldn't have to explain so much. The mystery behind Sam's dream is starting to unfold, and of course many more still left unexplained, but don't worry, those will all be revealed in due time.

**Alli2345:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! Truthfully, I have not watched the latest episode of Glee because it'll only dull my mood, and I want to believe that Sam and Quinn are the only ones meant for each other, so I'm not going to torture myself with anything else. I know, I'm so biased, but I'll settle at nothing else. :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! Oh, the wonderful thoughts you've put in my head with that suggestion! I'll definitely keep that in mind! Thank you so much for the lovely input!

**Mandorac:** LOL! Hi hi! I totally know what you mean, and really, no worries! I totally appreciate it every time you read and review, and your wonderful comments really mean a lot to me :D I'm glad you still found the previous chapter entertaining, even with the lack of Fabrevans in it. What happened to Rachel in the house will be revealed in the next chapter because I don't want to drag the investigation for too long. The box! Yes, so I've addressed that in this update; hopefully you've found it interesting! Cheers!

**Cant log in:** You're so funny! Lol! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review even though you were unable to log in! I still appreciate it! Well, I love jealous Sam as well, so that ought to be fun! Finn gets a smidge of action in this chapter—even though it's totally not the way he's expecting it to be—but I love his delusional character. It's hilarious to me, so hopefully you've enjoyed it too!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: **Not going to ramble on here, so without further ado, let me present chapter 33!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 33**

**Monday, 6.10pm**

**/Sam Evans**

The room goes silent.

Everybody's eyes are peeled to the screen of a freeze-frame, at an inconspicuous spot at the bottom right hand corner.

"What the hell is that?" Finn demands, his voice piercing through the stillness.

I can't fucking believe it.

"I'm sure we've just caught our ghost," Rachel calmly addresses the group.

Nobody says anything, still speechless after the huge revelation because it's going to affect so much of our analysis. We must've been blind not to notice it before.

"A raccoon?"

As if on cue, a chorus of disappointed groans and hushed curses ripple through the team, and I know my declaration just makes it all the more legitimate. Still, I can't fully grasp onto the fact that throughout the entire time up in the attic, we've managed to totally avoid such an animal. I mean, it would've been nearly impossible for it to escape.

"I suppose that raccoon was responsible for the camcorders as well?" Mike deadpans.

"That's a possibility," I reply him. With a resigned sigh, I face the group to give some final orders—more importantly Finn and Quinn since they're the ones in charge of audio. "Alright, listen up, gang. This new discovery will only make our jobs that much more difficult. Finn, whatever you have analyzed, I need you to go through it again. Just because we have a contamination on location doesn't mean we might not accidentally catch something else."

"Got it," he nods.

"Quinn, which audios have you run analysis on?" I ask.

"The one in the living room," she promptly answers.

I take three seconds to decide. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to go through it once more. If there's a chance that the raccoon might've slipped out of the attic and wandered around the house, I want to be able to catch it so that we can eliminate other unexplained occurrences."

"Alright, sure," she echoes.

Then, I turn to my two other female investigators. "Great job on the evidence, Rachel," I praise her efforts. She pulls back her shoulders and beams, clearly pleased with herself, and I know that she'll be milking this for all it's worth. Nevertheless, she is admittedly the most hardworking and diligent member in the team. Always striving to be the best at everything she does, I don't expect any less of her. "Just continue on with what you're doing and see if we can dismiss some of our experiences, now that we know we had a stray animal in the house. Tina, you're handling the video footages from the living room, am I right?"

"Yup."

"I want you to work closely with Quinn on the audio parts," I tell the Asian girl. "Cross-reference the footage and the recording should you find something abnormal. Alert each other, especially during the EVP sessions."

"Roger that," Tina mock salutes with a grin before sending a cheeky wink over to Quinn. At least I'm assured that those two can work together.

"How are the thermal footages coming along?" I direct to Artie.

My technical manager habitually pushes his square-rimmed glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Well, last night while you and Mike were out in the plantation, we've managed to capture some weird anomalies. I'm not sure if it'll help you out with your video analysis, Sam, but you know how we saw the strange figure hiding behind the tree at first, right?"

"Yeah." That was the reason we had gone on to investigate in the first place.

"That figure kept appearing and disappearing at random, and it's always the same shape and size, so hopefully you'll be able to cross-reference your experience with what had been caught by the thermal," Artie reports.

"What about after we've returned to central command?" I curiously question. "Was the figure still there?"

"I haven't reviewed it, yet," he admits. "And we were so caught up last night with everything going on with Rachel in the house that I was distracted from monitoring the thermal."

"What about you, Quinn? Did you notice anything?"

She tilts her head in slight confusion. "I ran into the house the moment Rachel radioed for me, remember?"

Five pairs of eyes zoom in on the petite brunette, who suddenly looks like a deer caught in the headlights, her face turning a shade of scarlet as her mouth hangs open. It's comical because it's the first time ever I've seen Rachel Berry struggle to form a coherent sentence.

"Yeah, what happened in there, anyway?" Finn chirps out with a sneaky smirk. "You never really explained anything after Quinn went in and rescued you."

Rachel huffs and plants one hand defiantly on her hip. "Technically, I wasn't being rescued—"

"Was that why you shrieked into the walkie-talkie, screaming 'Quinn! Quinn! Where are you? Quinn! Hurry up!'" Tina snickers as she flails her arms in the air, doing her best impression of her good friend.

Almost fuming with embarrassment, Rachel gasps at the taunts. "I did not—"

"Yeah, yeah, we don't believe you," Mike cuts in.

"I thought you didn't even like Quinn."

"Tina!" Rachel screeches, and fuck, I hate that pitch. She's mortified at the disclosure, immediately turning to the blonde girl with an apologetic grimace. "Quinn, I'm so sorry you had to hear that—"

"No, it's fine, I know."

Of course she does, because Rachel isn't one to keep her thoughts to herself, and even when she doesn't speak, I can only imagine the amount of things being projected from her head and the colorful spectrum of emotions that Quinn had to deal with just from her alone.

"Alright, Rachel, what really happened?" I grill on, just wanting to get to the root of this and carry on with the analysis. There's still much to be done and I want to spare the group from a long and winding story.

She hesitates for a moment before reluctantly caving in. "I kind of freaked out," she mutters.

"I'm sorry," Finn purposefully mocks with faux innocence. "What was that? I didn't catch it, Berry."

Rachel's expression twists in fury as she shoots a glare at the dude. "I don't have to repeat it for your benefit, Hudson," she retorts venomously.

"I'm sure nobody else heard it too."

"Maybe you're suffering from hearing loss from all that loud Death Metal you keep listening to."

"At least it sounds better than your constant whining."

For fuck's sake. They're not in second grade.

"Enough, both of you," I snap, trying hard not to lose my cool, but I've had it with those two. "Would it kill either of you to be in the same room without insulting one another?"

They mumble something incoherent in reply, and I swear I've met kindergarteners who are way more mature than these college students.

"Alright, Rach, what made you freak out?" I patiently continue.

"I don't know, exactly," she blurts out in a flustered manner. "One moment, I'm sitting on the couch and something big just brushed past the back of my neck and—" Rachel stops abruptly in mid-sentence. "Oh!"

"The raccoon?" Mike guesses.

"Only one way to find out," I declare, moving over to sit in front of Tina's computer. The screen is on pause, the video just twenty minutes into the investigation, showing a full view of the living room. It's still empty and the time indicates that we hadn't even commenced Graveyard Shift yet. I hit the fast-forward button to speed up the footage as the others gather behind me. When Rachel enters the frame and parks herself on the sofa, I play it at normal speed.

Nothing much happens for a full six minutes, and all of a sudden she shoots to her feet and starts ruffling her hair in alarm. She clicks her flashlight on while her other hand scrambles to reach for the walkie-talkie in her back pocket.

"Rewind that in slow-mo," Artie requests.

I click the video at half-speed, but the bespectacled lad reaches over to increase the brightness and contrast of the monitor before hitting a few more commands to zoom in on the area. It seems as though our culprit had appeared out of nowhere, which would explain Rachel's reaction as its striped tail brushed the back of her head, and then hopped off in fright. The raccoon then scuttled across out of frame, presumably back up to the attic.

"I think you scared the poor animal more than it scared you," Finn snorts, setting off another fresh round of verbal war.

"Oh, my God, Finn," Rachel hisses heatedly. "Why don't we reminisce on your clumsy attempts at retrieving a tape from under the couch? I'm sure if we rewind the footage, we can share that wonderful moment with everybody—"

"I said, enough!" My outburst shuts them up immediately. Usually, I'd be able to keep my temper in check. Unfortunately, today just isn't the day. I have a million and one things on my plate, and all I want to accomplish today is to cover as much as we can on analysis—get that out of the way. With two hours to spare before I dismiss my team, I don't want it wasted on childish banter. "I've reached my limit with you two. It's been close to a year, now. If you can't get along, then get out. Sort your problems before you step into this room."

"Sam, if you'll allow me to—"

"No, Rachel, get over it," I snap, and from the corner of my eyes, I see Quinn flinch at my harsh words. "Both of you," I glare back and forth between the bickering duo. "It's getting fucking old, alright?"

"Sam—"

My head whips around at the soft sound of her calling my name—gentle, yet with a hint of concern—and I feel the tension in between my shoulders fade away just staring into her hazel eyes.

"Quinn, I—"

And then I catch sight of all the stunned expressions on everybody else's faces until I land on Rachel's wounded pout as she fidgets with the corner of her plaid skirt, focusing her attention on nothing but the floor.

Shit.

"Guys, look, I'm sorry," I apologize as sincerely as possible. "I didn't mean to lash out like that, but it's been stressful. I know it's not an excuse to yell at anybody, but I can't—" I break the sentence with a tired sigh. "I'm going to take a breather and I trust that you guys know what to do."

I stalk out of the room, disappointed in myself, knowing that I pride on being an exemplary leader to my teammates and yet I had allowed myself to lose my cool. Unsure of where I'm heading, I don't get far, though, until a tug on my wrist halts me in my track. The familiar feel of her small fingers on my skin causes an even bigger wave of shame crashing down on me. I hadn't even heard her, but then again, I must've been caught up in my own thoughts.

Her shoes come into view—russet-colored military boots, so reflective of her interesting personality—as she takes a couple of steps to stand directly in front of me.

"Sam," she whispers.

She weaves one hand into mine while the other rests on my forearm. Her touch sends zaps of electricity coursing through my nerve endings. Still, I refuse to lift my gaze.

"Sam," she repeats in the same way, this time tenderly giving my hand a squeeze. "Nobody is upset with you. They understand."

"I just—"

"They understand."

And I believe her, because that's the magic of Quinn Fabray.

"Rachel and Finn—"

"Want to apologize for their behavior," she finishes for me.

I slowly lift my head up, and she's smiling at me like a fucking Angel, and God, how I wish she is mine to hold right now. Of course, she somehow reads my mind for the umpteenth time and wraps her arms over my shoulder. Having her in my embrace feels absolutely like home. My nose trails down the slender column of her neck and I languidly inhale her sweet scent.

"Is this how it's going to be from now?" I murmur into her ear.

"What do you mean?" Her words are muffled, sort of, but her warm breath on my jaw makes it a tad more difficult to form coherent sentences.

"Using your Empath/Psychic abilities to your advantage—"

She pulls back but doesn't let go. "I wasn't—"

I get to initiate it this time, grinning as I swoop down to capture her oh-so-inviting lips, kissing her in the way that I had wanted for so long now—without all the paranormal shenanigans; one just meant for us—and it feels even better than I had imagined. My fingers reach out to tangle between her silky blonde waves, tilting her head for a more comfortable angle, but then I hear her soft moan and her grip tightening on my shirt, and all semblance of sanity goes down the drain. She's giving me free rein over this—no obligations, no hidden agendas—and slowly, I back her up against the wall.

She gasps with a slight giggle. Opening my eyes, I'm met with her radiant smile, her cheeks flushed, and I'm wondering if she is having flashes like she had so many times before.

"Nothing."

My heart drops a little.

What?

Quinn laughs. "I mean, I'm not having flashes," she clarifies, a teasing tone in her voice. "Not saying that I felt nothing when we—"

God, she's more adorable when she's ranting.

"Good," I nod before eagerly kissing her again.

This newfound burst of unexplained fireworks going off in my chest is just insane—it's blowing my mind—this onslaught on my senses as I feel her pliant body mold perfectly against mine. It might have been a few hours since I had last kissed her, but this is different. Deciding to be a little bolder, I casually slip my tongue into her parted mouth, sliding my hands to cup her delicate face. She gently tugs on my hair, meshing our lips together and sending waves shooting down to my crotch, and I'm praying that I don't end up doing something terribly embarrassing, like jizzing all over in my pants.

"Sam!"

"What?"

My brain is still hazy from the aftershocks of multiple sensations to my being, even when she playfully slaps my biceps.

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's all you can think about?"

Instantly I feel my cheeks flaming up, knowing that she had obviously caught on to my thoughts. Jesus, just kill me now, please. I'm scrambling to put words together, stuttering like an idiot that I am, but nothing I say will be able to make up for my mortifying confession. "I—I'm sorry, Quinn, I—it's a natural reaction, and I'm a guy and—all the hormones—kissing you—I can't—"

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 6.45pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

What the hell is taking Quinn so long?

I mean, after she had gone off after Sam—at Tina's insistence, no less—and after Rachel and I had settled on a truce, I had been hoping to ask Quinn if she'd want to grab a quick bite before we continue with the analysis. She and Sam had been gone for ages now.

"They're taking awfully long," I comment to no one in particular. "I wonder if they're okay."

Unsurprisingly, nobody answers me because they're all so focused on their tasks—and the damn raccoon—so I take that opportunity to step out of the room. As soon as I glance down at the empty corridor—or so I thought—I wish I hadn't.

What the fuck?

They are making out.

Right there.

While we're supposed to work on evidence review.

And literally, I think my shit is about to blow off the roof—or is that not the right expression? Whatever. My fists are clenched tightly at my sides, and I'm so close to self-combusting like a fucking Hulk, and my blood is just boiling with rage right now; it shouldn't be humanly possible. I'm so fucking close to storming up there and sending my fucking fist flying into his fucking face. I'm beyond pissed.

Such a fucked up day.

First, that lunch date with Mike, and now this?

Is there some sort of queue that I'm unaware of before it's my turn?

And, what is this?

Did he come onto her? Are they secretly dating or something? Is this a mutual thing?

My head hurts from all the possibilities and speculations bombarding in like fucking missiles.

But I suppose I should break up their fun now.

So I clear my throat.

Loudly.

It echoes through the corridor like a growl, actually.

The blonde twins instantly jump apart, looking awkwardly flustered as they fuss about with their clothes and hair, and I fold my arms across my chest just waiting. I hope the scowl on my face says it all.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt anything?" I ask with sickly-sweet sarcasm.

"Finn." Sam coughs out. "I—erm—we'll be there in a minute."

I shift my gaze to look at Quinn, who is glancing down at the floor, her hands on her hips, and all of a sudden I feel the hatred—okay, maybe that's too harsh a word—and anger wash away when I see how uncomfortable I'm making her feel. I don't know; maybe I'm really ass-backwards in love with her, but for some reason, I can't find it in myself to stay mad at her.

I blame Evans.

"Whatever."

I slink back into the room, too depressed to do anything but slump down in my chair. Thank God my headphones are noise cancelling, so that when I snap them back on, I'm immediately zoomed back into the investigative mode. In fact, I don't even realize that Sam and Quinn had returned until Rachel taps me on my shoulder.

"Yes?" I try to sound as civil as possible. After that blow-up earlier, we're both pretty much still treading on eggshells—if anything, it's for the sake of the group—and I'm too much in a foul mood already to entertain more shit for the day. It's a bit weird, though, because we've gotten along fine before.

"Quinn requests for a change in seats," she politely explains. "She figured that it would be easier to cross-reference evidence if she sat next to Tina and I agree with her proposition. You don't mind, do you?"

I shrug my shoulders and then resume on my task.

And then Captain Suck-face decides to pay us a visit.

"Hey, guys," he begins in that blah-professional way that usually only work on formal occasions. "I would just like to apologize for—"

"No, Sam," Rachel jumps in, like the kiss-ass she is, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. "We should be the ones apologizing for our unprofessional behavior. You were right. Finn and I should keep our differences away from our investigation and learn to accept working together in an enclosed environment."

Sam sort of pauses for a second, and then blinks. "Right. That's good to know, then."

"And you will be pleased to know that I have some new updates on Brittany S. Pierce as well," she continues triumphantly.

"That's great, Rachel," he grins, pleased at the progress. "We'll talk more about it during the de-brief later, alright?"

Rachel bops her head enthusiastically. "Of course."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, so that wraps up chapter 33! And I know that it doesn't explain much about Sam's mystery, but it does explain some occurrences during the investigation. So, does anybody think the house is haunted? Any theories? Also, I'm bringing Brittany back into the story. She'll be quite a bit of help for Sam and Quinn later on (hint, hint)!

**Brink3:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! LOL! Well, I hope you didn't have to wait too long for this chapter! Hope you've enjoyed it!

**Gleeothfriends90210cccjsAMD:** Hi! You're back! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! The idea is that Quinn has selective reading abilities. The closer she knows someone—or the more they trust her—the better she is able to read them, and yes, Quinn did indeed read Finn's thoughts! Awkward! Hehe! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! And also, I've missed your stories! LOL! I'm glad you loved the Fabrevans scenes in the previous chapter. Hopefully you'll love the ones in this update too! Hehe! I had so much fun writing that bit. I haven't heard about that book. What's the story about? It sounds interesting if it has Psychometry in it :D I love some Fabang action too, which you can tell when I wrote The Housemate Agreement, and Finn is just so transparent. He wears his heart on his sleeves, and it makes for great comic relief!

**Dogluvertoo:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you found the previous chapter interesting! They are indeed getting closer to solving Sam's mystery, but I assure you, the journey has just begun, especially now that there's a change in Sam and Quinn's 'friendship' paradigm. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for constantly reading and reviewing! I'm going to hold slapping Finn for a bit longer because I'm going to save it for a special scene later on (wink, wink)! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Nicole:** Hello! Well, no worries, I hope you did well in your exams! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the Twilight reference! Hehe! Well, sometimes I scare myself writing this at night, so I usually just write in the day, and yeah, I would think that since the fonts and words aren't so in-your-face on the phone as it is on screen, it would be a lot less weird. Sometimes I get emotionally attached to a fanfic too, goodness, it should be illegal! LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**SwiftieDianna:** Hi there! Thank you so much for taking time to read and review my story! I truly appreciate it, and it's always nice to meet new readers! I'm glad that you are liking the story so far, especially with Finn and Santana. I know I haven't included much of Santana at the moment, but I promise you haven't seen the last of her! Unfortunately, I don't have twitter (I know, but I'm such a lazy ass when it comes to social networks and it's only going to collect cobwebs) but I'll be sure to follow you if I choose to create one!

**Ashley:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: **Many apologies! This update took longer than anticipated, but I promise some nice Fabrevans moments!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 34**

**Monday, 8.05pm**

**/Rachel Berry**

As everybody shift and shuffle to situate themselves around the big table for our routine sharing session, I take that moment to go through the list on my notepad—neatly written and color-coded in assigned columns and rows, of course—and ensure that I hadn't missed anything out.

Satisfied with my work, I turn my attention back to my fellow teammates just as Finn lazily slumps down on the chair next to me with a thoroughly bored expression. He is grumbling under his breath, and I've noticed that for the past two hours or so, he had been exceptionally moody. Lord knows what his problem is, but I sure have a zero-tolerance policy on slouching. I open mouth, ready to tell him off for his bad posture and how he was going to end up like Quasimodo if he keeps it up, when he shoots me a glare for no apparent reason. Excuse me, does my existence irritate him so much? I thought we've established a neutral ground after all the unnecessary drama? His foul mood makes no sense in the least.

"Alright," Sam speaks up just then, and I avert my attention to my group leader. Finn can wait. Whatever problems he has with me, we can deal with it afterwards. "I know that we're not exactly done with the analysis, but I would just like a quick update, as well as some follow-ups with on-going cases. Mike, would you like to start?"

When it comes to organizing information, Mike Chang is my mortal enemy, but then I'm going to chalk it up on his ethnicity—another Asian thing—because he has this incredibly thick binder with printed tabs to divide all the cases up, and then more tabs to break his research up in smaller parts. Articles that aren't scanned in are typed out in bold heading and Helvetica point-nine size font body text, complete with phrases and sentences appropriately highlighted in yellow. His column grids are immaculate, and I know this is going to sound really weird, but his attention to detail makes me so envious, sometimes I just want to stab him with my ballpoint pen.

He dives into the evidence review first, having been in charge of the camcorders from the basement. "Well, so far, the basement is clean," he reports. "No weird happenings, no strange sounds. Of course, I'm only an hour into the footage, but it doesn't seem like there's anything paranormal happening in there, although," he pauses to check a reference point on his writing pad. "The camera picked up on a soft thud, but I'm suspecting it's one of our footsteps from the living room."

"Tina, could you make a note on that?" Sam tells our other Asian investigator.

She nods. "Sure."

"What else have you got, Mike?"

The infamous binder makes an appearance as Mike hauls it in front of him, and I'm constantly wondering the origins of his materials. Where does he find all those information, anyway? I'm a hundred and ten percent certain that some of those classified stuff—the ones from the South Oak Mansion case—are borderline illegal. Nevertheless, I must admit that he's done some impressive sourcing, and for that I suppose I can reluctantly admit that he's brilliant at his job.

"I've started a little bit on the research side of the investigation," he says, pulling sheets of paper out of the holder and presenting the group with several newspaper clippings. "And what I've managed to find out, is that Camden House used to be called The Roseanne House, built in 1958. When a flood came in 1962, it washed the house away, along with a woman named Roseanne Walters, who had been home alone that afternoon. She drowned and died in the basement."

"That's terrible," I gasp, imagining the tragedy.

"Yeah," Mike agrees. "And if there are any chances of paranormal occurrences, I would think that she'd be the one haunting the house."

"Is there anything else to it?" Sam asks. "Like family members? Was she married? Anything personal about her?"

Mike sorts through a few pages before extracting one that looks suspiciously like an identification certificate of some sort. "This is the only legitimate documentation I can find. It's a morgue report."

"Where did you get these stuff?" Quinn wonders out loud, her eyes wide with awe as she scans through the paper.

It's hard to miss the part where they share this secretive knowing look, and then she quirks an eyebrow, smirking at his sheer genius.

"That's pretty clever," she comments.

"Did you just do some Psychic mambo-jumbo on him?" I blurt out, their exchange a little too fishy for my liking.

Quinn hesitates for a second, darting her eyes to steal a glimpse over at Sam. "Erm…yeah."

"You can read minds now?" I don't mean to shriek or anything, but this is brand new information to me, and she's just a bottomless pit of surprises, isn't she?

"Not everybody's."

"What—why wasn't this discussed?"

"Oh, God, Rachel," Finn snaps, suddenly waking up from his somber daze. "This has nothing to do with the case. Quit getting your panties in a twist and just chill, okay?"

How rude is that? And to think that we've waved the white flag.

I feel so betrayed, but I sense that this isn't the right time to be voicing out unwarranted opinions, so I press my lips together and fold my arms across my chest, sitting rigidly straight in my chair.

"I can't read your thoughts, Rachel, so you don't have to worry about that."

Perfect.

"Let's get back on track now, shall we?" Sam remarks, staring pointedly at me like it's my fault. "Mike, what does the morgue report say?"

"Well, they've found a ring on her finger," Mike calmly explains. "Perhaps a wedding band."

"Roseanne had a husband?" Tina adds in curiously.

Mike shrugs. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" Sam repeats, his brows furrowing. "What do you mean, 'maybe'?"

"I don't know for certain because there aren't any mentions of family members in any of the articles," he clarifies, pointing to the various printouts. "The ring could very well be a family heirloom."

"We need to find that ring," Quinn declares. "Do you know where we can find it?"

Tilting his head, Mike gives her an inquisitive look. "No, I don't. Why do you need to find it?"

"Clairsentience," Artie speaks up out of the blue. "The ability to touch an object and sense its energy. It happened with Tom Earles."

"So you're going to just find for this ring and hope that it'll magically tell us a story?" I hadn't intended for my words to come off sounding so sarcastic, and I'm sorry, but this is getting pretty ridiculous.

"We don't have to do that," Quinn is quick to answer. "It was just a suggestion."

"Alright, look," Sam cuts in, holding both his hands up. "Whether or not Roseanne had been married is not the main thing, here."

Thank you.

Finally, someone who is sane.

"If she had died in the house, it would be a great possibility," he goes on. "But so far, the basement is clean. Is there anything else to add to this, Mike?"

"Actually, there is," Mike produces another piece of paper. "Roseanne may have died in the house, but she didn't die in the Camden House."

"Wait, that doesn't make sense," Tina says. "How many houses are there?"

"Just one," Mike replies. "Roseanne House was wiped out during the flood, and because the soil was too soft for construction, Camden House had to be built a few hundred feet away. The original location of her death—"

"Is the spot in which we had captured the figure on our thermal," Artie finishes, putting two and two together. "Right where Quinn and I had felt the weird energy."

"Exactly."

"What have you uncovered from the thermal, Artie?" Sam turns his attention to our technical manager.

"Like I've mentioned before, the figure appeared and disappeared right where you and Mike were, but as soon as you've found the box, it just didn't show up anymore," Artie informs him. "Here, why don't we play the footages in sync." Plugging in the tape from the handheld camcorder, he runs the videos side-by-side, coordinating the timings so that they coincide with each other. Everybody scrambles to surround him. "So, that over there is obviously the both of you," he demonstrates. "But the figure isn't there, am I right?"

"Yeah," Sam nods his head.

"Here, you guys are walking towards that tree." The camera footage shows a close-up of said tree as Mike and Sam circles it, and this is definitely the first time I'm watching this because I had absolutely no idea what was going on outside while I was in the house alone. And then there's a sound, like a branch breaking. "There's that figure again, and you can tell that it's further away, and then you guys followed it."

He lets the rest of the footage roll, and for those few minutes, I'm literally speechless. The evidence is astounding—probably the best piece of evidence we've ever collected so far—almost to a point that I'm doubting if it's even real. I mean, I'm skeptical about a lot of things—especially in the paranormal field—but even as I'm staring at the answers straight in the face, I'm finding it extremely difficult to wrap my head around it. So far, the only questionable piece of evidence—or rather equipment—is the Ovilus. Artie can swear by it all he wants, but I choose to remain neutral, not trusting a device that 'talks' to 'ghosts'.

"This is a great experimental platform for the Ovilus, don't you think?" Artie shoots the question specifically to me—on purpose, no doubt.

"Mere coincidence," I shrug.

"On all accounts?" he challenges, a victorious glint in his eyes.

"So you think that's Roseanne?" I deadpan, gesturing towards the screen in a dismissive manner. The idea of it tickles me, really.

"But the figure seems a bit too tall for it to be a woman, don't you think?" Tina chimes in, her tone laced with a bit of doubt.

"No, I'm certain the entity was a male," Sam verifies, his eyes still glued to the computer. "You know what? Let's not dwell on this. Whether or not it's Roseanne, we can't prove that, but we've captured an amazing piece of evidence that clearly shows a presence of an entity that we can back up with thermal footage. There are paranormal occurrences in the plantation where the Roseanne House used to be, where there had been a flood and a death. Now we need to find out if there's anything paranormal inside the Camden House. Rachel and Finn, what have you two uncovered from your analysis?"

I lunge over to grab my notepad.

"Unfortunately, after cross-referencing the audio with our video footages, we've managed to dismiss all sounds and attribute them to the raccoon," I announce, slightly disappointed. That darn animal.

"Nothing at all from the attic?" Sam asks.

"None so far," I affirm.

He nods and moves on to Tina and Quinn. "How are you girls doing with the analysis from the living room?"

"Well, Sam, when you and Mike were in there, you guys heard like a scratch on the wall, right?" Quinn verifies, and her question is responded with simultaneous confirmations. "Well, we've managed to catch the sounds, but on video, it doesn't look like there was a raccoon in there at that moment—not one we can see anyway."

"Did you notice if there was a shift with the pictures on the wall?"

"Nothing shifted, Sam," Tina informs him regretfully. "For now we can't identify it, so we're going to classify that piece of evidence as an unexplained occurrence."

"Alright, cool. Anything else?"

"The shadow that you saw, Sam; we didn't catch that on camera at all, but we did catch a small bit of shadow that Finn saw when he was crawling on the floor," the Asian girl says with a smirk. "The shape looks like a raccoon, but perhaps we can get a second opinion on that."

"Hook it up, then," Sam requests.

Playing the footage back on a bigger screen, Tina circles a spot with her finger. "Keep your eyes over there."

It scatters by so fast, though, that Artie has to put it on slow motion to capture the movement, and low and behold, the raccoon makes its presence known. It's frustrating really, that we've just spent an entire investigation on a wild goose chase with an animal that should've been easy to catch.

"Well, I guess that solves it, then," Finn remarks, throwing his hands in the air.

"At this moment, we have no proof that the Camden House is haunted, and we can't explain any of the claims made by Sugar," Sam summarizes. "There was no hair-tugging, or shadow plays on the wall; in fact, the only evidence that we have to present is thermal footage and the photograph that we've found. We'll continue with analysis tomorrow. Rachel, you mentioned that you have an update on Brittany?"

"Indeed, I do." Flipping the pages of my notebook, I sit up straighter to present my findings. "I've decided to ask a few people if they have noticed anything strange going on with her, and surprisingly, everybody who knows her has heard about Candice one way or another, but they all just assume she's got a split personality or something."

I pause to make sure the group is following.

"Go on," Sam cues me.

"However, I've managed to talk to her roommate—or ex-roommate—today and she has an entirely different theory," I continue. "Her name is Kitty Wilde, and she believes that Candice is one hundred percent real."

I allow the news to sink in for a bit.

"Just go on with it, please," Finn grumbles with a rude roll of his eyes.

Shooting him a deathly glare, I resume my report. "Well, she told me that it all started right off the bat when she first met Brittany, and all of a sudden, weird things started happening whenever she's around, to the point that Kitty refuses to be in the room with her unless she really has to. In fact, she even thought that Brittany was into some kind of witchcraft and Satan worship."

"Any examples of those strange occurrences?" Tina asks.

"She mentioned a time when Brittany had misplaced something important—a thumb drive—and she was turning the room upside down searching for it, and then she sort of gave up and asked Candice to quit playing around, and all of a sudden her thumb drive magically appeared on the table," I explain. "Another instance she mentioned was about a lamp. Kitty had to sleep early one night for a test the next day, and Brittany was up watching a movie. She didn't mind it so much, but she needed the lights to be switched off before she could sleep, and without anybody doing anything, the lights were automatically out."

"Could this be that perhaps their room is haunted?" Finn snorts.

"If that's the case, then why is Candice following Brittany around as a so-called imaginary friend?" I disprove. "Besides, she mentioned that when Brittany goes back home for vacation break, nothing abnormal occurred in the room."

"But Candice hates it when Brittany goes back home, right?" Quinn chimes in.

"That's right. So I'm guessing that we're dealing with two separate things here in her case," I theorize, going through my notes one more time in case I've missed out anything crucial. "I don't think Brittany's house is haunted; she is."

I glance over to my team leader, who seems deep in thought, carefully weighing his next words. "Are you saying that there are two separate entities haunting her?"

"I'm not sure, but hear me out," I say. "I mean, I don't think it's witchcraft or Satan worship and stuff like that, or really bad things would've happened already. You know how there are two sides to everything; a good and a bad. Let's just say that Candice is the good guy—the protector—and whatever is haunting Brittany's house is bad, which would explain why she wouldn't want to be in the house, am I right?"

"I suppose that's a valid theory," Sam contemplates, still not entirely convinced, though.

"Wow, this is by far the most complicated case we've ever had, but I'm willing to give it a shot," Mike voices his opinion. "It could possibly be the best one yet."

"I second that," Tina joins in with a raise of her hand. "I think this could be interesting."

Finn reluctantly caves in after I shoot him with a pointed look. "Me too."

That's half the group, but really, the only person whose decision matters is Sam, and I need his approval. "What do you think, Sam?"

"Before I agree on this, I want to do an experiment," he replies, turning his head to face the rookie in the group. "Can you have a talk with Brittany, Quinn?"

"What? Why?"

Tina jumps in her seat, startled at my sudden outburst.

"Wait, you want me to—"

"I just need you to test the waters," Sam calmly explains, cutting the blonde off and not the least bit affected by my blatant objection. "No pressure or anything."

Quinn hesitates for a few seconds.

"I'll see what I can do."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 9.25pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Quinn remarks as we're packing up to leave the headquarters. She skips daintily up to me and places her tiny hands on my chest. "Can we probably just order pizza or something and go back to your place while we work on cracking the mystery of Sam Evans?"

"All this not giving you a migraine yet?" I joke, chuckling as I stare into her bright hazel eyes.

She leans up to drop a short kiss to my lips. "Well, I can use some distraction, actually, and I think finding Wayne Hunters is a good way to do it."

"Wait, do that again." I request, resting my hands on the curve of her hips to still her movements and keep her close.

Her forehead scrunches in worry. "Why? Did you see something? Was there a flash?"

"No," I tell her, grinning because she looks so fucking adorable. "I just want to kiss you again."

She playfully slaps my arm before placing another chaste peck where I want it, and I still can't believe that she's mine—unofficially, of course, since we have yet to actually address our relationship status—but it's an absolute bliss now that I know I can kiss and hold her anytime I want.

"You have incredibly soft lips, you know that?" she smirks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I use a lot of chap stick."

She giggles at my lame attempt to be funny, and seriously, I don't think there's a girl out there who's as perfect as Quinn Fabray. I mean, she always makes me feel less of a dork, especially when I tend to try too hard with my failed impersonations.

"Are you thinking of Matthew McConaughey?"

I snap out of my daze to meet her curious—and slightly mocking—smile. "I think I see a lot of law breakers up in this house tonight."

"Oh, my God, you did not just quote from _Magic Mike_."

I wag my eyebrows suggestively, tipping an imaginary cowboy hat. "Do I sound sexy?"

Shoving me away, she rolls her eyes as she strides out of the room. "Not even close," she teases.

Twenty minutes later, we're sprawled out on my bed, the laptop fired up and pieces of paper littering the mattress. A box with half a pizza left sits on my nightstand, two empty mugs of coffee next to it. Quinn and I are revisiting the research and articles on the Camden House, but I find myself kind of staring at her instead. She's taken her shoes off and is now studying the morgue report that Mike had attained, her legs crossed and her teeth catching between her plump lips.

"You're doing it again," she mutters.

"Sorry," I sheepishly apologize, immediately returning to my initial task of sketching out my family tree. It's rather extensive and really, how would I know who my second great-grand uncle is, or if I even have one? After staring at the page for a full minute, I sigh, "I need the journal. I'm sure it contains a lot about my family."

Quinn looks up at my. "Do you know where the journal is?"

Raking my brains to pinpoint the time and location is making my head throb, and the memory seems sort of hazy to me. "I can't remember. It's in a chest, in a basement, and that's like more than ten years ago."

"Okay, so this chest, do you think you can draw it out?" she suggests thoughtfully. "Then perhaps you can e-mail it to your relatives so that it'll be easier to track it down."

"That's actually a really good idea," I beam, impressed that she's able to come up with something so brilliant in such a short time. "I can maybe just roughly recall what it looks like, but I'm sort of fuzzy with the details."

There's a sudden secretive glint in her eyes. "Then I suppose we should initiate our back-up emergency plan."

"What back-up emergency plan?"

She grasps onto the front of my shirt and gives it a hard tug before clashing our lips together. It doesn't take much after that to figure it out, obviously, and I reciprocate her actions whole-heartedly, fully committed to the cause. Her kisses are really addictive, and really, it's nearly impossible to think of anything else but the wonderful feeling of her fingers entwining in my hair. However, I quickly realize what the main purpose is, and switch to focusing on the flashes that doesn't seem to appear.

"You're thinking too much, Sam," she whispers huskily against my lips. "It'll come to you. Just let go."

So I remove the pieces of paper from her lap and slowly lay her down on the bed, hovering above her without breaking any contact. Her blonde hair fans out on my pillow as I trail my hands tentatively up the sides of her soft body, unsure if she's fine with it, until I hear a quiet, melodious moan escaping her throat, and any semblance of self-control promptly flies out of the window. Her fingers are kneading the muscles in my shoulders, easing the knots out and I groan in pleasure from the onslaught of sensations, acutely aware of the stirrings down south.

"Quinn, I don't think it's working."

And that's when she reaches between us and cups my hardened bulge. I gasp at the unexpected pleasure, fireworks exploding behind my eyelids, and after that, I don't think there's anything coherent left in my brains.

"Shit, shit…"

As if on cue, the flashes start flooding in.

I hear my name, the voice I can now identify as Wayne Hunters.

I'm standing in a kitchen looking up, familiar faces—my parents, my aunts and uncles, cousins—standing around chatting, milling around, drinking and eating. I glance around, trying to identify the house with as many clues as possible, and then it gets blurry.

"You have to stop thinking, Sam," Quinn murmurs into my ears, and then nibbles on it to distract me. Her warm hands make their way beneath my shirt, running up the planes of my abs to my chest, and I'm not even sure where mine are, but all I can feel is her smooth skin underneath my fingertips.

The vision sharpens again.

Wandering aimlessly down a corridor, I spot a door. It's bright red and inviting, just waiting to be opened.

Being the curious boy that I am, I turn the knob.

The stairs lead down to a dark room, stuffy and dusty, and old.

A solitary bulb hangs from the ceiling in the center, and I pull on the chain, instantly illuminating the space and revealing the wooden chest.

I stare at it for a while, imprinting it to memory while I contemplate on a decision, but it's as if my hands are moving on their own accord. Working on the locking mechanism, it takes a bit of a struggle before the rust gives way, and then I lift the heavy lid.

And then there's a loud thump, jolting me out of the dreamscape.

"You okay?" Quinn asks.

"Yeah," I breathe, gulping in mouthfuls of air. "I think I just came in my pants."

"Oh, jeez," she chuckles. "Sam!"

My cheeks flame up in mortified embarrassment, and I quickly hop off her to change out of the sticky mess that's settling uncomfortably in my boxers. Yeah, way to make a good first impression to the girl of my dreams even before we've established some sort of relationship status. God, I'm such a loser! Now she's going to think of me as this hormonally-imbalanced overgrown teenager or something and leave me even before we go on a second official date. Mentally kicking myself in the ass, I inwardly curse my awkwardness.

When I return to the room with a fresh pair of underwear and sweatpants, Quinn is on the laptop, sifting through the police records for possible information about Wayne Hunters. She glances up when I come in and smiles as though I hadn't done something incredibly stupid minutes ago.

"Any luck with that?" I ask in hopes of salvaging what's left of my pride.

"No, not really. Without knowing his specific year and date of birth, we can be looking at pictures for the next three days or so," Quinn informs me, and I'm relieved that she's not giving me a hard time about my premature ejaculation.

"What about address? Can we sort by that?"

"Sure," she nods. "I'll get on to it."

"Great. In the meantime, I'll start on the sketch."

We work in companionable silence for a while until I notice her yawning. Taking a glimpse at the clock on my bedside table, I realize how late it is, and that we both have classes tomorrow.

"Hey, it's getting kind of late. Come on, I'll walk you back to your apartment. I'm sure Santana is going to be wondering where you are," I add that last bit as an afterthought.

She rolls her eyes I that uncanny way of hers, but there's a smile on her face. "She's probably too preoccupied with Mike's roommate."

"Puckerman?"

"Surprised?"

"Now that you mention it, they kind of compliment each other," I muse out loud.

"Actually, Sam, I was wondering if I could just stay over tonight?"

"S—Stay? Here?"

She sounds almost shy. "I mean, if you don't mind, of course."

"No!" I blurt out, a little too loudly, I might add. "I don't mind it at all."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hey guys! A big thank you for hanging on! I know it's been slow and what not, but I promise, the next update shouldn't take as long.

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing each time! It's never failed to put a smile on my face! LOL! The raccoon was so anti-climatic for the team, wasn't it? I've added in a small background on Brittany in the story. It's kind of like easing her character in, and now that Quinn's going to be involved with her case, it'll get more interesting. Also, now that Sam's mystery is moving along, his story will get a bit more exciting too! Cheers!

**Gleeothfriends90210cccjsAMD:** Hello there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad that you liked that scene in the hallway between Sam and Quinn! I know, it'll be a lot easier if I did actually go ahead and say 'and so they made out for ten minutes' but that's just terrible, and I won't stand for it. LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! Sam losing his shit is probably one of my favorite scenes to write because it's so funny! And I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Fabrevans moments! I don't hate Rachel and Finn. They make for great entertainment and comic relief in this story, but yeah, sometimes they do try a little too hard, don't you think? There's a small background check on Brittany in this update, and Quinn's going to be involved, so that should be interesting :D

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Hehe! Your theory about the land and the house is actually kind of spot on, but I won't want to give away too much information! I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans kiss! One of my favorite scenes! I'm trying to slot Santana in the next chapter! So hopefully you'll look out for that :P Cheers!

**FabrevansTaylorSquared:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving such a wonderful review! I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you're enjoying where the story is heading :D LOL! Well, I suppose writing on something paranormal-ish opens a lot of opportunities to explore, especially on storyline and subplots. Writing-wise, I don't think I'll be able to stop anytime soon! I love it way too much!

**Nicole:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! LOL! I get what you mean about the laziness, and the whole discipline of writing a story. Sometimes I wish someone would write my story for me! LOL! I think someone needs to invent a dream-writer-thing. You wear it at night and when you dream, the computer generates a story, ready for publish!

**FadingAndie:** Hi there! Thank you so much for taking time to read—albeit your hesitation on the genre—and leaving a nice review for me! I try not to write this at night too, because I tend to freak myself out. LOL! I'm glad you like the story so far, and that I haven't scared you off yet! Hopefully you've enjoyed this update!


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N:** Alright! I'm back with chapter 35! Here you go!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 35**

**Tuesday, 8.10am**

**/Sam Evans**

It takes me a while to register the reason for the stiffness in my neck, but as I crack an eye open to the sun hitting the side of my face, I can't help thinking what a pain it is to be a gentleman and offer up the bed. Groaning, I sit up on the sofa, only to have Blaine appear out of nowhere with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in another. He smirks down at me, and then proceeds on to unapologetically slap my legs off the seat so that he can plop down in his usual spot.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he asks, amused.

"Quinn is in my bed," I mutter under my breath, my voice raspy with sleep.

"Actually, she's not," Blaine informs me. "She left a note for you on the kitchen table."

"What?" I'm not exactly wide-awake yet so it's taking a while to process.

"There's a note for you on the table," he repeats, gesturing towards the kitchen.

I drag my feet over to the counter and find a small post-it that Quinn must've found in my room, and in her incredibly elegant handwriting, she thanks me for letting her stay the night and that she'll see me later. Next to it, she has drawn a tiny heart, and subconsciously, a smile forms on my face. Checking the clock on the wall, I realize that I don't have a class for two more hours, and now that my beloved bed is unoccupied, I suppose I can use an hour of well-deserved rest.

And then my cellphone rings from somewhere inside the apartment, but for the life of me, I can't remember where I'd left it.

"Is that your phone?" Blaine asks with an annoyed huff, his eyes not leaving the newspaper.

"Yeah…" I trail off, slowly turning a full circle as I scan the place, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the device.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I would if I could actually just find the damn thing," I quip back, lifting the cushions from the sofa and slipping my hands into the cracks between the seats. Going down on my hands and knees, I peek underneath the couch, but to no avail. "Fucking hell."

"I think it's in your bedroom," Blaine offers.

I pad over, and true enough, my cellphone is vibrating on my bedside table. I can't recognize the string of numbers on the screen, but I answer it anyways.

"Hello?"

"Sammy?"

Oh, my God.

"Er…yes?" I tentatively reply, unable to decipher the shrill womanly voice from the other end of the line. "Who's this?"

"Hi!" she chirps back enthusiastically. "It's your aunt Penelope."

"Huh?"

"It's aunt Penny," she continues, oblivious to my confusion. "You e-mailed your uncle George regarding a chest?"

"Oh, right!" How can I forget her? She's my mum's twice-married oldest sister—who lives in Cincinnati with her husband and their two bratty daughters—and whom I'm completely not a fan of. "How may I help you aunt Penny?"

"My husband mentioned that you were looking for a chest, and it looks like the one we have. I can't seem to figure out what you would want with that dusty old thing, but just so you know, it's sitting in our attic with the spiders and the cobwebs," she lets me know.

It's as if the years of teasing and cheek-pinching automatically evaporates, and my excitement bubbles over. "That's great!" I exclaim, already deciding on the best route to take to her house in the shortest time possible. "Is it okay for me to drop by and have a look at it now?"

"Don't you have school, young man?" Her tone gets all judgmental, and I'm slightly offended because she was always picking on my dyslexia when I was a kid.

"Yeah, but this is important," I tell her urgently. "It's for a school project."

Technically that's not a lie.

"Well, then, do you know roughly what time you'll get here?" she asks.

Doing a fist pump to the air, I quickly scramble to pick out a change of clothes. "It's about a three-hour drive from campus. I should reach right about lunchtime."

"Alright, dear, I'll be expecting you, then."

"See you later, aunt Penny, and thank you so much," I gush unnecessarily.

"You're welcome dear. Now be careful on the road, and please bring a friend with you in case you can't read the signboards, alright?"

I wince at her lack of faith in me. "I will. Bye-bye."

The moment she hangs up, I'm speed-dialing Quinn's number.

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 8.55am<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

"Are you just coming in?"

Quinn freezes by the doorway, like a thief in the night, and I wonder if her Empath powers are even marginally working this morning because clearly she can't sense my outrage from the lobby. Planting my hands on my hips, I watch as she slowly turns around—taking her fucking own sweet time—with an apologetic grimace on her face. I sweep through her appearance—her blonde hair looks like a bird had built a nest up there and had a family in it too, and in other instances, I'm certain that she wouldn't be caught dead with her clothes as wrinkled as those. Frankly, it's a fucking giveaway and it takes me barely a few seconds to put the pieces together.

"You better not have done what I think you did," I growl, narrowing my eyes at her.

"No! I didn't—" she blurts out, and then takes a second to recompose herself. "Besides, even if I did, that's none of your business."

Oh, please. It is so my business.

"Where were you all night?" I demand while she tries unsuccessfully to scuttle away in an attempt to avoid my interrogation; 'attempt' being the keyword. She should know better, anyway.

"I was—" Her cellphone goes off just then, interrupting her possible explanation, and I let out an annoyed sigh. She pulls the device out of her backpack but doesn't answer it straight away. Instead, she glances expectantly at me, silently asking for permission.

One look at her blinking screen and I know it's Trouty Mouth. What the fuck does he want? If I hadn't known better, I'd think she's actually returning from a night with him. With that, I have half the ass to pick up the call and give him a piece of my mind, but somehow Quinn reads my thoughts and shoots me a warning glare.

"Go ahead," I reluctantly tell her.

Quinn takes the call outside in the hallway, closing the door behind her before I can even try to eavesdrop on the conversation, and I realize that if I don't make a move soon, I'll be late for class again, and there's no way in hell I can afford it. Still, I'll be damned if that Salamander Lips starts dragging her off to work on some paranormal shit again. I will personally hunt him down and scratch his pretty eyeballs out with my bare hands. Either way, I don't have the time to orchestrate the dude's castration right now, and it doesn't look like their convenient phone call is going to end anytime soon, so picking up my leather satchel from the table, I barge out of the door.

She whirls around at my unexpected appearance and raises both her eyebrows inquiringly. Rolling my eyes, I swat my hand dismissively in the air and saunter down the empty corridor, in time to drop in on five seconds of her exchange with Blonde Beiber.

"Pick me up in ten."

Ten? Where the fuck is she going? She just got in.

What on this damn planet are they up to now?

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 10.20am<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

Sam and I have Social Sciences together—one of the many choices of compulsory elective offered by the school that we're allowed to pick—and he's still absent from class. Of course, presuming that he had overslept or missed the alarm again—yes, again, as in more than once—I had taken the liberty to call his cellphone a couple of times, only to be ignored and led to his voicemail. I've tried dialing his apartment, but Blaine told me that Sam wasn't even in.

So where is he?

Glancing down at my phone, I see that there aren't any replies to my text messages or returns to my calls, which is so unlike Sam because he's always been so responsible in this aspect, especially with his academics. Fearing that he may be in some kind of danger, I alert the rest of the group, voicing—or rather typing—out my concerns.

I have this incredibly annoying habit, though, when I'm anxious or worried about something, and I'll tap my pen against the tabletop, which is exactly what I'm starting to do as I wait for the others to reply. The girl sitting next to me grows agitated and kicks my chair to get me to stop. I offer her an apologetic shrug, almost jumping in my seat when I feel the vibration.

It's Rachel, prompt with a response—short and sweet—that she hasn't heard or known of Sam's whereabouts, but she kindly offers to have her go at tracking him down. After sending her a quick 'thanks', I receive replies from Tina, Finn and Artie. Their answers are identical, all of them not knowing where our team leader is.

All, except for Quinn.

By the time class ends, Sam still hasn't shown up and there's still no word from the two. It's really peculiar—not to mention, incredibly suspicious—so I decide that there's only one thing to do. Disregarding lunch altogether, I cross the campus towards Sam's dorm, hoping that I'll be able to find some sort of answer in his room. Blame it on being a paranormal investigator for too long—and perhaps my Asian genes—but I'm fairly certain that I won't be able to give this a rest until I get to the bottom of this. If two people are AWOL, I would very much like to know where and why.

Knocking on the door, I'm greeted by a jovial-looking Blaine Anderson.

"Hey, Mike," he grins warmly, and then steps aside. "Come on in. What brings you here?"

"Is Sam in?" I ask, doing a three-sixty sweep of the living room.

"No, he's not."

"Do you know where he went?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. I just need to borrow something of his, and he told me that I can just grab it from his room." Coming up with a lie is a rather practiced technique, more so when you're the person in charge of gathering most of the information—by force, if necessary—in the team. "May I?"

"Go right ahead," Blaine says, gesturing towards Sam's door. "Help yourself."

The first thing I realize the instant I step in, is that for the first time ever, his bed is neatly made—pillows and covers where they should be—and for half a second, I wonder if I had opened the wrong door, but then I discover the half-mess on the desk and I know there's no mistaking whose room it is. I've been in here countless times, and in all honesty, the guy lives like a stereotypical college dude, so when I see the lack of clothing on the floor, I'm sure it's not because Sam had a sudden urge to do some spring cleaning.

Rummaging through the pile on his table, I discover my research articles in a familiar-looking binder, tabbed with mini post-it notes and written in perfect penmanship. Well, that's definitely not Sam's handwriting, that's for sure. He scribbles stuff like chicken scratch—no, it has to be a female—and frankly, I can only remember one girl who had requested for a copy of the morgue report that is sitting on top of a laptop.

"Quinn," I murmur. She had to be here with him at some point between last night and this morning, but I can't understand what it is about the Camden House case that's so interesting. Investigating a paranormal case is not exactly trying to solve a mystery. We're just trying to provide our clients with as many information as we can without needing to play Sherlock Holmes.

And then I notice a thumb drive poking out from the side of the computer, still attached to the USB port, and I'm a hundred percent sure that it belongs to Quinn. I had seen it before when I helped her out with those police records that she needed.

Is there something she's telling Sam but not the rest of us?

Are they in this together?

Only one way to find out.

Booting up the laptop, I patiently wait for the system to start up, drumming my fingers against the wooden surface of the desk. When the prompt icon appears, I click on it, revealing the data in Quinn's thumb drive. There are hundreds—maybe even thousands—of files for someone named 'Wayne Hunters', profiles dating back to the nineteen-hundreds and I'm just really confused right now.

"Who the heck is Wayne Hunters?"

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 1.05pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

I've only been there once; about three years ago, so some of the streets and landmarks are still kind of fresh in my head, which works for the best because I don't feel like driving around like an idiot after that long journey. Quinn hums along to the country song playing on the radio, and she looks so damn cute doing it, too, bobbing her head about; she actually reminds me of a Disney character.

"Which one?"

"Huh?"

She giggles. "Which Disney character?"

"That cowgirl from the Toy Story movie," I smirk.

"Jessie?"

"Is that what her name is?"

Quinn shrugs her shoulders and then nods. "Yeah, that's about right. She's not blonde, though, and she yodels."

"Well, then, there you go. My point, exactly."

She doesn't get it at first, but then quickly realizes that I'm joking and gives my shoulders a playful shove as I picture her in an old Western ensemble—plaid shirt, leather boots and ten-gallon hat; the whole nine yards—line dancing in braided pig tails.

"Jerk," she cracks up, obviously picking up on the image. Her laughter is contagious, and soon after, I follow suit, trying my best not to go off the road.

"I mean, you have to admit, that's just adorable."

"Oh, shut up."

A couple of junctions later, we're pulling up in the driveway of a preppy-looking gingerbread house—white picket fence and all—and Aunt Penny is sitting on the porch reading a book. She waves as we get out of the car, a Cheshire cat smile on her face.

"Sammy! It's so nice to see you," she chirps gleefully, forcing me into a bone-crushing hug.

Quinn giggles at the nickname.

"Hi, Aunt Penny," I wheeze out, stepping away before she's able to do some major damage to my ribs. "Nice to see you too. Thanks for letting us stop by."

"It's nothing, honey," she burbles on, and then her face lights up when she glances at Quinn. "And who's this lovely young lady?"

"Aunt Penny, this is Quinn Fabray," I introduce, laying a hand on the small of her back. "My girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." Quinn extends her hands out, but Aunt Penny is a thoroughly affectionate person, and instead grabs her in for one of her infamous embraces. She shoots me a half-pleading look over her shoulder and I shrug helplessly, which earns me an arch of her eyebrow.

"Oh, sweetheart. Sammy never mentioned a girlfriend." My aunt eventually releases her death grip on her, but keeps her at arm's length to study her from head to toe. "Well, aren't you just a doll. Tell me, what did he have to do to finally get you to notice him?"

Just kill me now.

"Okay!" I cut in while I still have my pride and dignity intact. "Aunt Penny, listen, we'd love to stay and chat but we really need to get going soon, so do you think we can have a look at that chest now?"

"Sure, sure. Of course!" She opens the door and ushers us inside. "Come on in. It's up in the attic. Sammy, I trust you know how to find your way up there? It's so full of dust, and my old little lungs can't really take is—"

"No, it's okay, Aunt Penny." I don't need to listen about her one hundred and one health conditions that may or may not include menopause. "We'll take it from here, thanks."

"Alright, then, I'll be in the kitchen, alright?" she says. "Have you two eaten lunch, yet? I'm making cottage pie and meat loaf."

Cottage pie? Really? I don't know how anybody can screw up meat and mashed potatoes but Aunt Penny manages to do that every single time. People take a scoop of it as a polite gesture during Christmas and Thanksgiving, and then sometimes discreetly feeds it to my dog. The next year, he died of food poisoning.

Quinn reads that thought and her eyes widen as she bites on her lips to stifle her laughter.

"That sounds wonderful, Aunt Penny, but we'll pass on that, but thanks again, for the offer." And then before she can talk our ears off or something, I take Quinn's hand in mine and lead her over to the staircase leading up to the second floor. At the end of he short hallway, there's a door trap on the ceiling with a chain attached to it. It opens when I give it a tug and a ladder slides down. I'm about to climb up when Quinn stops me, grasping on my wrist.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I'm getting a weird kind of feeling," she admits, glancing up into the attic. "But I don't know what. It's nothing like what I've experienced before."

"Do you want to stay down here then?"

She shakes her head. "No, it's nothing bad or anything like that. Just thought I'd let you know."

I nod, completely understanding where she's coming from. "Alright, then. You sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

Before I can think of what I'm doing, I drop a kiss to her lips. Nothing too fancy or anything, but I can tell that she doesn't mind it because she flashes me a sweet smile, a slight blush on her rosy cheeks, and it makes my heart flutter a little.

"Shall we?"

"After you."

I watch as Quinn makes her ascend up the ladder, and it's got to be the best damn decision I've ever made because her jean. She knows what's on my mind the instant it's in my head and a soft laugh escapes her lips as she purposefully sways her hips on the last few steps. Aunt Penny is right, though, how did I get so lucky? I climb up after her into the stuffy attic, and true enough, it's so filled with cobwebs—kind of takes me back to the Camden House—I wonder when was the last time anybody had ventured in here.

"She wasn't kidding about the spiders," I mutter under my breath.

Quinn whips around to face me. "What?"

"Be careful of the spiders," I warn her in case she freaks out or something.

We find the chest at a far corner, hidden amongst other insignificant boxes. The paint had chipped and faded with time, and a thick layer of dust had collected on the surface, it's almost impossible to identify it. Carefully, I lift the heavy lid, holding my breath for what lies inside.

"Sam."

"Holy. Shit."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Dum, dum, dum! Okay, so as most of you know, cliffhangers are sort of a trend in this story, so I suppose this chapter opens up a bit more regarding Sam's mystery, and now the involvement of Mike…things are going to get interesting!

**Brink3:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Fabrevans action as well as the creepy factor! LOL! Hopefully you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! Of course, you've never failed to always review my updates! So thank you so much for always reading and leaving wonderful comments! I'm glad you've enjoyed the Fabrevans action at the end! I couldn't resist adding that in after all the steaminess going on with Fix You. I love messing around with Rachel's head because she has this uptight side but yet, you can sense a bit of an extreme commanding type, and so it's fun! Stabbing Mike with a ballpoint pen! Poor dude doesn't even realize he's doing anything wrong! Hehe! Quinn's meeting with Brittany will come soon! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hiiiiiiiiiiiii! I love how your reviews are so distinct, and nobody else reviews like you do! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and leaving lovely comments! I'm glad you liked the ending for the previous chapter! Follows a little steaminess from Fix You, I reckon! Hehe! Well, for Brittany's case, I don't want to give away too much, but the rough idea is that back in Pennsylvania, where she is from, Brittany have been experiencing paranormal stuff that is not Candice at all. It's sort of a darker entity that Candice (her 'imaginary friend') is afraid of and refuses to follow Brittany whenever she goes back for the holidays. So Candice is sort of like a good friend to Brittany, while a mysterious darker entity is haunting her back home. Hopefully that explains it!

**Nicole:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I take it that you reviewed the previous chapter on a computer as opposed to the phone that's being a pain in the ass. LOL! I'll admit, I've never read 'Trackers' before but this guy was reading it in the train, so maybe I'll go check it out! Thank you for the recommendation! Sometimes it's good to step away from FF and read something that's professionally subbed. Lord knows how many grammatical errors I've made in my stories, so I hope you don't take that many written cues from me :P Sometimes I wish I have an editor to proof my work. Sigh…I'm 23, by the way, and I'm a graphic designer by profession, just to answer your question on your review to Fix You.

**Overgron's LilLamb:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Fabrevans interactions in the previous chapter! I figured, you know, after all those make out sessions and hormones running rampant, Sam and Quinn should be given a boost up in that aspect. Time to live up to the M rating. LOL! I'll be writing the Quinn and Brittany meeting really soon! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I try my best to update as fast as I can. WIME is actually a buffer for THA, because I'm a bit more anal on that story and so it takes a lot more for me to be satisfied before I publish an update. I'm more relaxed with this story! LOL! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! The meeting between Brittany and Quinn will be up soon! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Agronderwood: **Hello! Okay, so I've updated your pen name, and thank you so much for shortening it! LOL! Thank you, as well, for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I know, you're probably disappointed that nothing steamy happened during the night, but Sam is a gentleman, and as much as I would love to get the M ratings pumping, I figure that they're taking it slow and steady. Yeah, I mean, I agree with you! At least she's reciprocating his feelings :D Hopefully you've enjoyed this update!


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: **Hi guys! Sorry for the delay. Work got me all tied up, especially since I'm working double time to finish everything up before the Lunar New Year. Either way, I rushed through this one because I figured I needed to move my ass.

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 36**

**Tuesday, 4.45pm**

**/Mike Chang**

I'm so engrossed staring at the laptop—unsure of what I'm even trying to figure out—that I don't hear anybody entering the apartment until the door to Sam's bedroom swings open all of a sudden. Jumping to my feet, I spin around to find a surprised-looking Sam and Quinn standing a few feet away, wearing mirrored expressions.

"Mike? What are you doing in here?"

I freeze on the spot, and I swear, I'm usually not so incapable, but at that unfortunate moment, I'm unsure how to react as I watch his eyes dart back and forth between me and the evidence on the desk.

"He knows."

Quinn's soft whisper pulls me back to the present, and I almost forget that she's in the room. It takes a few seconds to decipher what she actually means, but then I realize that she must've read my mind. Immediately, I remember what my intent had been when I had camped in here for the past five hours or so. Figuring that there's nothing left to hide, I stare defiantly at the pair.

"You have some explaining to do," I tell Sam.

The new couple exchange quick glances, and then Quinn gives the smallest of nods. Sam, though, is reluctant, and I probably ought to feel kind of offended that he doesn't trust me—his best friend—but I also know that I've probably already invaded enough of his—or rather, their—privacy by ransacking his laptop when I shouldn't be. In my defense, though, as far as possible, we don't keep secrets from one another, so I'm a little hurt right now.

"He can help us."

Okay, having a silent, telepathic conversation—no matter how one-sided it is—about me while I'm still standing here is kind of not fun, and Quinn isn't even trying to be discreet anymore, but as I glance over to Sam, his eyes flicker over to me for a second.

"Quinn…"

"Sam…"

If I hadn't known that she's a Psychic/Empath, I would probably find their exchange sort of freaky, like a scene right out of a sci-fi television show. The only difference, though, is that I'm not exactly granted with a voiceover or subtitles. I know we probably had spooked Rachel the other day when Quinn had read my thoughts, especially when it ended up sounding like that creepy vampire dude from that movie.

"Come on, we can use all the help we can get."

"But we can't—"

"He's your best friend, Sam."

"Yeah, but that—"

"Sam…"

She gives her lips a slight pout, and then seals the deal with a bat of her eyelashes. Sam arches an eyebrow, regarding her skeptically for a bit before he eventually sighs in resignation, and I almost snicker at the hilarity in the situation. I suppose we know who wears the pants in their relationship.

"Okay, fine," he relents.

Okay, fine?

What does that even mean? Something must've been lost in translation because I'm a little lost with what's going on, more so when Quinn settles herself comfortably on the bed, looking absolutely at ease. Sam gives me another pointed look before moving over to retrieve his laptop.

"You might want to sit down for this," he tells me, frowning with reluctance. After passing the computer to Quinn, he proceeds to pull a tattered-looking booking out of his backpack.

"What's that?" I ask.

"A journal."

"Whose?"

"Roseanne Walters'."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 5.35pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"I can't believe you've been hiding all these from me, Sam," Mike comments once I'm done. I can tell that he's trying to process it all in, even as he's gaping down at the journal in his hands. "This is a lot to keep inside."

"If it's any consolation, I didn't even tell Quinn about it," I say truthfully with a sheepish chuckle, remembering the kiss that had started it all. "She sort of sensed—or read—it and—"

"You can read his dreams?" Mike raises his eyebrows in astonishment.

Quinn's cheeks flush with color, and it's simply too Goddamn adorable. She must've been thinking about that fateful time too as a shy—borderline coquettish—smile graces her kissable lips. "Well, I can't, actually, but I—something happened and I had a flash in my head. It's hard to explain exactly—"

"What happened?" Mike prods on curiously, tilting his head, and I swear sometimes he just asks too many questions.

"Well, Sam, he—erm—well, he—"

She's stuttering and stumbling over her words, and a part of me wants to witness the sheer cuteness of it all, but I reckon she's already embarrassed enough without having to add the uncomfortable factor. Deciding that I ought to be a good boyfriend—official or not—I quickly jump to her rescue.

"I kissed her."

It's Mike's turn to blush at the implication.

"Oh."

And then we're stuck in this triangle of awkwardness, and staring at everything and anything but each other.

"Okay, stop it, guys," Quinn speaks up after a full minute of excruciating silence. "The moment has passed, so can we just forget that conversation ever occurred and move on? We have an even bigger problem at hand. Who is Wayne Hunters, and how does he relate to Roseanne Walters? How is he connected to Sam?"

"Well, you have about a thousand records of Wayne Hunters in your thumb drive," Mike points out—his logical, rational side taking over—as he gestures towards the computer. "Do you have any idea how to go about narrowing the search?"

"We're hoping that there's something in this journal that is able to help us," I explain. "I just had this flash one day—"

Mike snorts. "While you were kissing her?"

There's a whoosh of heat firing up to my ears as Quinn whacks the back of his head. Clearing my throat, I continue, "as I was saying; I just had this flash one day, and I believe that there's a connection—especially after discovering the numbers one forty-two on the door in the photograph of Roseanne Walters."

"Is it perhaps just a coincidence?" Mike theorizes.

I shake my head in reply. "I can't dismiss such a startling resemblance. I mean, the flood, the digging—if we can prove the connection of Wayne Hunters and Roseanne Walters, then there's no denying it, is there? Besides, the door and the number in my dreams match exactly that of the one in the picture."

He soaks the information in for a moment, and then turns to Quinn. "What about using your clairsentience abilities? It helped us with Tom Earles, didn't it?"

"We've tried that," she informs him with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "But it didn't work, although I did get a flash of the flood when I touched the photo before—"

"Wait, so you knew about the flood in 1962 even before I had my research done?" Mike cuts in, looking mildly peeved. When Quinn merely offers another nonchalant shrug, he huffs melodramatically. "Talk about an unfair advantage."

I can't help but snicker at his good-natured ribbing, knowing that they're just a result of some small, harmless envy. The dude is a genius, and I suppose it hurts his pride a little when someone else beats him to it. Quinn allows a chuckle escape and playfully nudges him in the side, to which he generously responds with a gentle tug on her blonde hair.

"Okay, hey, no harassing my girlfriend," I mockingly reprimand my best friend as I wrap an arm around her slim waist in an overly exaggerated possessiveness. Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, I narrow my eyes at him.

Mike raises both his hands in surrender and laughs. "She's all yours, Evans."

Rolling her gorgeous hazel eyes at our childish behavior, Quinn squirms out of my hold and sticks her tongue out. "You boys suck."

"But you still love us either way."

"Love is kind of a strong word, Chang."

He sends her a wink, and I guess he must've sent her something else as well via the psychic channel because she gasps all of a sudden and then makes a grab for my pillow before chucking it at the Asian Brainiac.

"What is he thinking?"

"Nothing you want to know."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 7.10pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

They're late—the three of them; Sam, Mike and Quinn—texting the rest of us earlier on that they had something to attend to.

Yeah, right.

What the hell is so damn important that they have to bail on evidence analysis? That's just bullshit, okay, especially when I know that Quinn doesn't have any of her classes in common with either guys, and if it's even marginally related to the Camden House case, they certainly shouldn't be keeping the group in the dark.

A quick threesome, perhaps?

As soon as that disturbing image pops in my head, I shove it away, no doubt ruining my appetite for supper.

"Snap out of it, Finn," Rachel remarks, jolting me out of my stupor. "Stop spacing out. We have a lot to cover."

"Whatever," I mutter under my breath, not in the mood to deal with her. Then again, what else is new? "Who died and made you the team Nazi?"

She hears me, though, and shoots me a dirty look, but decides to keep her opinions to herself. Why add fuel to the fire, right? Folding my arms across my chest, I lean back in my seat and resume with my task, throwing my concentration into the case in order to avoid any further wondering thoughts.

Not long after, the trio enters the room, almost conspiringly, and I have to swallow a scoff as they cheerfully greet us with apologies and vague excuses. Nobody questions them on anything—not even Rachel—as Sam, Mike and Quinn immediately immerse themselves in their respective jobs. I swear their priorities are screwed up today. We all work in silence, occupied with the important stuff, and every now and then, my eyes will dart over to check on the blonde beauty. She's working with Tina, her forehead furrowing in concentration even as tendrils of golden hair fall over to hide her angelic face.

"Finn, I think I just caught some sort of audio in our footage," Rachel once again bursts my blissful bubble. "Can you give me a confirmation whether or not our digital recorder caught it as well?"

Stifling an annoyed sigh, but knowing I shouldn't be complaining or whatever, I assent to her request. Don't get me wrong; I do love my job, and no matter how big a pain in the ass analysis is, it's always exciting when we catch any evidence that we can then present to our clients.

"It's a negative, Rachel," I report. "Nothing at all."

"Well, then, can you take a listen and give me your take on it?"

I blink hard, unsure if I'd heard her right. "You want my opinion?"

She sighs. "Just take a listen, Finn."

I plug my ear piece in because there's no way I'm using hers—and I doubt she'll allow me to, anyway—and motion for her to do a playback. Not exactly certain of the noise she's heard, I loop the footage, straining my ears for any possible anomaly.

"I don't hear anything, Rachel," I tell her after the tenth time hearing the clip. "Are you sure it's not background noise or something?"

Frankly, I'm expecting a launch into another one of our many arguments, but the brunette just frowns, and the disappointment crosses her features. It's actually rather worrying, especially with how strong-headed she is with her opinions.

"Thanks, Finn," she mumbles.

Normally, I would've been glad to have her out of my hair, but she seems genuinely bothered by something. Blame it on a momentary lapse in sanity, or maybe it's just the brotherly side of me talking. Hang on, brotherly? Gross.

"Hey, you okay?"

For whatever reason, she's surprised by my question.

"You look kind of down," I add on.

"Wow, you actually noticed?" Her voice is laced with bitter sarcasm, and this time, it piques my interest. Who knew the Great Rachel Berry had emotions that range past all that high-and-mighty crap?

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Finn," she spits out with a rolls of her eyes. "You don't even like me, so why the sudden interest in my wellbeing?"

Guess she's back.

"Just checking," I murmur, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention from the others. "Don't have to bite my head off. Sheesh."

We go back to the silence after that, and half an hour later, I'm done. There's nothing from the recordings that we can use as back-up evidence—especially after that damn raccoon contamination—so that's kind of a bust. Sam calls for a gathering around the big table to discuss our findings, and somehow or another, I find myself sitting beside Quinn Fabray—prim and dainty, in all her glory. In spite of everything else that had happened—or the most heart-wrenching, unfortunate circumstances that I had the most displeasure of witnessing—I give her a smile.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, Hudson," she smiles back at me, her hazel eyes twinkling, and she really is fucking gorgeous—so much so that I want to lunge over the desk this instant to pummel the living daylights out of Sam Evans for being that lucky son of a bitch receiving the end of her affections. Damn that bastard. I still can't understand what she ever sees in him. I mean, does his humongous lips turn her on or something? If we're talking about kissing abilities, I can safely say that I have one hell of a talented tongue that I'm sure she'll thoroughly enjoy, if she'd only let me.

Just saying.

I can show her a spanking good time too—figuratively speaking, of course, but it's nothing I won't deny. That ass of hers is just so deliciously inviting, I wonder how it'll feel like in the cradle of my palms. On occasion, I've been told by chicks that I'm a good lay. Okay, maybe that's stretching the truth a bit—one chick, freshmen party—and I might have been too plastered to remember the night, but if Quinn would give me a chance, I'm sure I can rock her world and her bed.

"Finn? Finn!"

Someone jabs me on the side, harshly jolting me back to the present. Six pairs of eyes are fixed on me now, as though waiting for some kind of reaction, and I realize that I haven't been following any of it.

"Did you find anything during analysis, Finn?" Sam asks in exasperation.

"Oh, shit." Doing a fast scan on the page of my notebook, I try not to appear as stupid as I feel. "Well, the attic is clean. Anything we've found previously, we can easily dismiss as the sounds made by the raccoon. Other than that, no disembodied voices, nothing that doesn't spell out background noise."

My team leader nods as he makes a scribble on his writing pad. I turn to Quinn, wondering what she thinks of my findings but she's glancing down at her own notebook as though it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Rachel, you're up next."

Always ready and eager to share her vast—yet annoying—knowledge, she straightens her back and leans to study her notes before clearing her throat. "Well, aside from that raccoon, I'm afraid that we didn't catch anything paranormal. Every sound in the video is cross-referenced to our audio equipment and they match those of which had been made by our culprit. Anything else is dismissed as background noise. No disembodied voices and no sure signs of paranormal contact or activity."

Trust Rachel to give an elaborate recount of her analysis.

"Tina and Quinn, what can you tell us about your findings?" Sam proceeds to ask after jotting down more notes.

"Nothing much to report, Sam," Tina informs him. "We've debunked the shadows, we've ruled out possible paranormal sounds as that of the raccoon because of audio patterns—there's nothing in the living room."

Short and sweet.

"Quinn?" Mr. Beiber Senior prompts.

"Nothing on audio either," she says. "Everything we have—after cross-referencing with the video footage—is not usable as back-up evidence for our clients."

"Well then, it appears we'll only have our outdoor footages to present to Sugar tomorrow," Sam concludes, and I can't even remember Mike and Artie sharing their findings. I suppose they must've taken their turns when I'd been fantasizing about nailing Quinn against my door. From the corner of my eyes, I see her squirming uncomfortably in her seat, and I'm about to ask her what's wrong when Sam continues. "I don't need everybody there, so as usual, I'll do the client reveal with Artie and Mike. We'll meet here at five."

Quinn raises her hand. "I skipped the previous client reveal. Is it okay if I tag along for this one?"

I'm not sure if Sam is hesitating just for the sake of it, because it's quite obvious he's going to agree to it anyway. I mean, I don't blame the dude, seriously. There's no denying Quinn and her hazel eyes.

"Alright," he eventually says. "I suppose it'll be a good learning experience for you."

"Thanks, Sam."

They exchange a look for that splitting second, and there's no hiding what's going on between them. It's so fucking painful to watch, in fact, that I'm forced to tear my gaze away. The image of them sucking face in the hallway pops into my head, making me nauseas.

"So moving on," Sam announces, pulling everyone back into the meeting. "Rachel, what's the status update with Brittany? We're thinking of bringing Quinn in to talk to her tomorrow."

Rachel flips through the pages in her notebook. "She has a free period tomorrow after lunch, so that's probably a good time to talk to her."

"Do you have her timetable in there?" Tina wonders out loud.

"I just searched the name list of students in certain classes and worked out her schedule," she replies in that all-too-familiar pride in her tone. "It's nothing much, really."

I just have to roll my eyes at that.

"Good work," Sam praises her like the exemplary team leader he is. "Rachel, you, Quinn and I will meet in the dining hall where Brittany normally eats her lunch at one-thirty."

Rachel nods her head. "Copy that."

"Anything else, guys?"

Nobody speaks up.

"Alright, then. Dismissed."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 9.50pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"There's no mention of Wayne Hunters at all in this journal so far," I grumble as I flip through yet another page of heartfelt declarations of love. "It's just filled with sappy poetry."

Quinn glances up from my laptop, an amused smirk on her lips. From the other corner of my room, Mike snickers as he paws through the new documents he'd managed to secure regarding the Roseanne House.

"Here, give me that," Quinn says, holding her hand out, a mischievous glimmer in her hypnotic eyes. "Maybe it's some girl code or something that you wouldn't understand."

"Hilarious, Q."

We do a quick swap so that I'm now in charge of sifting through hundreds of police records found of Wayne Hunters. The address filter didn't work, and even after trying on multiple keywords pertaining to Roseanne or the house, we couldn't identify a match. If anything, it doesn't seem like Wayne Hunters had even existed, but that's not going to stop us. I'm determined to get to the bottom of this, even if it'll take me numerous sleepless nights to crack it.

"Guys, I think I've found something interesting about the Camden House," Mike declares as he comes over to join us on the bed, a printed article in his hand. "Apparently, the land, before it was bought over by the couple that lives there now, does not belong to Roseanne Walters of Wayne Hunters. It belonged to Violet Savior and her husband, Ralph."

"Did they buy the land?" Quinn asks.

"It doesn't say here, exactly."

That name.

There's something familiar about it.

"Sam, you okay?"

Quinn must've read my thoughts, and a concerned yet curious expression crosses her face. "Yeah," I reply, mentally letting her know that I'll tell her later. "Do we have any background on Violet and Ralph? Were they related to Roseanne or Wayne?"

"Not at the moment, no," Mike shakes his head. "But I can look it up; see what their connections are."

"That'll be great, Mike, thanks."

He nods once in acknowledgement and then starts to gather his stuff.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I have an early class tomorrow and my lecturer is a nightmare with tardiness," my best friend grumbles sourly as he neatly piles the pieces of paper into his thick binder. "I just think he's using that as an excuse to vent his sexual frustrations."

"Sexual frustrations?" Quinn deadpans with a quirk of her eyebrow. "How old is your lecturer?"

"About fifty," Mike shrugs.

Bursts of laughter fill the room, even as Mike looks at Quinn and I in pure confusion. Jesus, the guy is a genius, but sometimes his jokes don't even register in his own brain.

"Dude, I don't think there's anything sexual left when you're fifty," I snort out between breaths. "He's just a bitter old man who's just bored of his job and waiting for retirement."

A metaphoric light bulb goes off in his head and he chuckles sheepishly, hoisting his backpack higher up his shoulders. "Okay, shut up," he retorts good-naturedly. "I'll see you two tomorrow."

"Bye, Mikey," Quinn chirps airily.

The moment he's out of the door and out of earshot, she turns to me expectantly, the amusement gone, replaced by a seriousness in her expression.

"Okay, spill. Violet Savior."

"It just sounds familiar," I explain earnestly. "Like I've heard it somewhere before."

"Does it ring some sort of bell?"

"I don't know. It's more like a gut feeling or something."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She tilts her head, looking thoughtful all of a sudden. "Do you want to find out?"

"Of course."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

It takes barely a second to decipher what she means by that, and even lesser time for me to act on it. Setting the computer to the side, I slide over, hovering over her petite form and weave my fingers into the soft tresses of her hair. Her eyes—bright and inviting—twinkle in anticipation, and I find myself smiling before leaning over to capture her succulent lips between mine in a tender kiss. Damn, I can certainly get used to this method of retrieving information. She hooks an arm around my neck, drawing me closer as her free hand grasps onto the front of my shirt. Poking my tongue out, I languidly run it across the seams of her mouth, and with a sensual moan, she parts it for me.

"Anything yet?" I whisper huskily, barely breaking contact.

"No. Keep going."

Grateful that Quinn has a dress on instead of pants, I lift her up so that she's straddling my hardened bulge. Feeling her heat on top of me sends a shockwave through every nerve ending. My senses are kicking on overdrive, and then she shifts ever so slightly, and I'm a goner. The friction is exquisite. A low growl escapes my throat as her talented hands snake beneath my top to gently scratch her fingers along the planes of my abs. Taking that as a cue, I move the material of her skirt to reveal the milky flesh of her thighs, trailing my palms further to cup her rear.

"Sam…"

I don't think I'll ever get tired of hearing my name like that.

"Still nothing, Quinn."

"Stop thinking, then," she murmurs before delving in for another kiss.

I'm about to tell her that thinking is nearly impossible when she's on top of me like that, but then she's tugging on my shirt, trying to get it off. In exchange, I slip the cardigan off her shoulders just as she's pushing me down on the mattress. The image of her sitting on top of me will forever be imprinted in my head, and damn, she just so beautiful. She leans over, bracing her weight on her arms on either side of my head, and her hair tumbles over like a curtain around us.

"Are you holding back on purpose, Sam?"

I can't help but panic for a moment, hoping I hadn't offended her, but when I notice the cheekiness playing in the corner of her lips, I know that she's kidding. Sighing in relief, I fix her with a lopsided grin.

"Maybe."

She giggles, shaking her head before closing the gap between us once again. Her weight feels amazing above me, and every so often, her hips will roll in just the right places—subconsciously or not—and I won't be able to contain the grunts and groans. Making an ascend from her bottoms, I trace the contours of her hips up to knead the sides of her waist—loving the gasps and whimpers my actions elicit—and then finding the start of her zipper, where I hesitate, wondering if she's fine with it.

"It's okay, Sam," she gently urges in my ear. "It's okay."

Slowly, as though unveiling a precious gift, I peel the clothing from her toned body, holding my breath as bit by bit, Quinn is exposed to me. The dress pools by her hips, but I can't take my eyes off her lace-covered breasts—so perfect—even when she flushes a deep shade of red and shyly pokes me on my stomach.

"Are you just going to stare at it?"

"Sorry," I murmur, feeling like a retard because all of a sudden, I'm not sure what to do with myself. It's not as if I haven't seen a woman partially naked, for crying out loud.

"Oh, my God, Sam," she chuckles. "Victoria's Secret? Really?"

Right. Psychic/Empath. Almost forgot.

"Well—I don't—you're just—"

"Okay, shut up."

She brings us back on track again, and the feeling of her bra brushing against my chest awakens something new in me—something I've never experienced before. The stirring in my crotch is begging for more—anything more—but I try as best as I can to ignore it. I don't want to expect too much out of this, and I care about Quinn more than anything to put my needs before her comfort, but she's ignited a burning fire in me, and the way she's kissing me—with an aggression and passion of a wanton woman—I'm slowly succumbing to my carnal desires.

"Sam…" she grates out, pressing her body closer, and that's possibly all I need to take the plunge.

Grabbing her around the waist, I roll over—never once breaking the kiss—so that I'm now propping my forearms into the bed, holding my weight so that I don't crush her. Her legs, God, I love her shapely, smooth legs as she clamps them around my hips. I don't even notice her hands reaching down to unbutton my jeans, but then she's struggling to rid me of it and before I know it, I'm left in my boxers while she shimmies out of her dress. The clothes form a pile on the floor—not that I care, really—and she seizes that moment of distraction to once again regain dominance.

"Jesus, Quinn," I breathe as her center comes in contact with my painfully hard, cotton-clad manhood. The heat is excruciatingly amazing, and she doesn't allow me the luxury to ogle her perfect form before she's attacking my lips once again.

And then she presses her hips down in a swirling motion.

"Shit…"

The flashes start.

A flower; violet.

A tombstone.

A woman. She's crying. Weeping. Mourning.

A man. He's tugging violently on the woman; forcing her out of the house where her belongings are scattered on the ground.

A girl watches.

Her eyes.

My mom.

"Quinn!" I pant out. "I think I know who she is."

"Good," she nods. "Don't stop now, Sam. I can't—"

"Quinn—"

She locates my hand and brings it down to her slightly damp underwear. "I want this, Sam."

"You sure?" I husk out because it's a gentlemanly thing to do.

"I'm sure."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Whoots! Fabrevans sexy time! LOL! Okay, so I'm aware that this isn't as explicit as Fix You, but it's a little awkward—at least for me, it is—to write a steamy scene in Sam's point of view. It's hardly romantic at all, and I was so tempted to make that portion sound as crude as possible, but then I realize that Sam's not that kind of guy. Let's just assume that sex with Quinn is indescribable. LOL!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing—as always! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! LOL! And I love Santana and how she always has colorful adjectives to describe a situation! She's a great inspiration for witty comebacks! Yeah, so now that Mike's involved in Sam's dream, I suppose it'll be interesting to see how the dynamics shift in the team. Also, bearing in mind that Artie is an Empath, I'm sure it won't take long before he figures things out. Hint, hint!

**Alli2345:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Well, hopefully this chapter answers some of your questions regarding Mike's reaction :D LOL! Poor dog! I blame Aunt Penny!

**RJRRAA:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! It's always nice to receive the lovely comments from you! I'm glad you liked the ending for the previous chapter, and I'm glad you're asking questions about Brittany :D Yes, Quinn and Sam are dating for sure. They just haven't had the 'mandatory talk' yet. It'll come in the next chapter :D I love Mike too, and yeah, I totally agree that he shouldn't be snooping around, but he can't help it, I suppose. Asian roots and all. Santana is a great character to bounce off of because she has such a colorful personality!

**Nicole:** LOL! Hi girl! I hope you've solved all that drama with the phone! Thanks for trying to review on it, anyway, despite what a pain it is. Believe me, I know! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter! Bummer about the Chinese homework, though. Hope you've sorted that out! Thanks for the reading recommendation! I'll be sure to check it out when I have the time! LOL! What I usually do when inspiration strikes, is that I write it in shorthand on my phone and then get back to it when I can. I don't have a tumblr account, unfortunately—I'm sad and lazy that way—because I have enough distraction during work as it is with my writing and I hardly ever use the computer at home. I'd love to give you my name, really, but I swore to myself I'd live in alias on FF. Sorry, girl! Hope you've enjoyed this update, though!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Glad you liked the cliffhanger on the previous chapter! Cheers!


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **Hi guys! So I'm here with another update, but before that, I'd just like to let you know that I've amended some things on the last bit for the previous chapter, so before you carry on with this, please do read the last part again, or certain things won't make sense in this chapter!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 37**

**Wednesday, 6.20am**

**/Sam Evans**

I awake to the most peaceful sleep I've ever had in years. The sun is barely up and my alarm clock hasn't even rung yet, so I'm wondering what it is that had roused me when I realize the blonde that's safely tucked in my arms, her face cuddled into my chest. Events from the night before flood into my head as a huge grin forms on my lips.

Had it all really happened? It hadn't been just a dream?

A peek under the covers gives me just the answer I need. Sighing in contented bliss, I glance down at her angelic face, watching—memorizing the beautiful morning-after glow—as she continues in her slumber. I trail my eyes from her soft long lashes down to the perfect slope of her nose, landing, fixated on her plump rosy lips. Her cheeks—flushed with color—are probably the most attractive things I've ever seen; it's like being given the privilege to witness Aphrodite sing.

God, I'm becoming such a sappy idiot.

She stirs a moment later, mumbling something incoherent, and a few strands of her golden hair fall over to block my gorgeous view. Not wanting to be denied of her beauty, I gently shove them aside. The tips of my fingers brush against her soft skin and soon after, she blinks her eyes open, revealing those hypnotic hazel orbs.

"Good morning."

The corner of her lips twitch upwards in a lazy smile. "Good morning," she whispers, shifting a little to better accommodate herself in my cradle. "What time is it?"

"Half past six?"

She groans and then buries her nose into my shoulder. "Why are you up so early?"

I give a slight shrug. "I don't know. I guess I've never slept so well before."

"We have a long day ahead of us, don't we?"

Nodding my head, I do a quick inventory of today's schedule. "Yeah, we do. What classes do you have today?"

"I have one on Media Trend Studies at ten," she replies. "That should end around twelve."

"Great, so I'll meet you after that for lunch, then?"

"Sure."

Truthfully, I didn't think it's going to be this easy—this transition to being an official couple—and I've ever only had one other crappy relationship before, so it's not like I'm exactly a pro at being a boyfriend, so this is definitely a nice surprise. Subconsciously, I'm twirling a lock of her hair around my finger, and we settle into a comfortable silence, but I'm wondering what's going on in that pretty little head of hers.

I mean, last night had been mind-blowing for me—literally—and it's going to suck a bit on my ego if she hadn't enjoyed it, especially since I'm not the most experienced person for the job. Of course, it's not like I can just flat-out ask her if I'd been a good lay; that's just awkward as hell, but I suppose I can use some constructive feedback, right?

Clearing my throat, I decide to swallow my pride and risk the bruise to my masculinity. "Hey, Quinn? How are you feeling? Did I hurt you last night? Did you enjoy it at all?"

She tilts her head up to look at me. "You were perfect."

I start to smile until something occurs to me. "You're not just saying that, right?"

The giggle that comes out of her makes my heart swell. "No," she murmurs, rubbing the tips of our noses together. "Oh, God, we're starting to sound like one of those cliché movie couples."

I'm chuckling, but really, I'm trying to see if I'd unintentionally did some damage to her because truth be told, I have no fucking clue what I'd been doing. I might have perhaps shoved a little too hard, or, I don't know, squeezed a little too enthusiastically or whatever, but I just want to make sure that she still wants to be with me after all that.

"Okay, you have to stop that," she tells me, cupping my face between her hands. "One day, you'll end up hurting yourself with all the brain cells you're losing."

"Shut up, Jean Grey," I snort, gently poking her sides, knowing that she's ticklish.

Squirming to escape my fingers, she squeals, and then effectively curls herself into a ball, her back to me, as she gasps to catch her breath. I decide to give her a break and wrap my arms around her, loving how she fits just perfectly there. When she is all calm again, she rolls back to face me. Our little workout has the sheets tangled up, and she's now exposed to me from waist up, her chest flushed with the effort.

"You're beautiful."

"Thank you." She holds my gaze, and I know that she's itching to ask me something.

"Spit it out, Quinn. What is it?"

"So who's Violet Savior to you, Sam?"

I pause for a moment to think it through one last time. "I think she was my grandmother."

Her eyebrows spring up in surprise. "You think?"

"I never knew my grandparents from my mom's side of the family. I never knew their names because nobody ever spoke of them; don't know where they came from. They're one big mystery to me, but I never really asked my mom, either." After heaving a sigh, I continue, "it's like an unspoken territory between us but I think I might have met Violet at one point of time because I saw that tombstone—"

"But those flashes might not even be yours," Quinn reminds me. "Remember those flashes of Wayne Hunters and the floods? Those aren't distant memories."

"Not mine, perhaps."

"Your mom's?"

I shrug again. "Possibly."

"But then, wouldn't your mom's last name be Savior?" she muses out loud, her eyebrows scrunching together.

Shaking my head, I reply, "she has always gone by Mary Andrea as far as I know, and my aunts are married, so it's not like it's ever mattered to me. The name 'Savior' hadn't even registered to me till yesterday."

"Maybe there's something more in the journal." Even before she's finished talking, she's already stretching a hand out to grab the book from my bedside drawer. The sheets—barely covering much of her—slides off to reveal more milky flesh, and it's takes a lot to suppress a groan because just looking at her alone is stirring some unmistakable heat down south. I'm just glad that Blaine isn't the sort who'll barge into the room without knocking. "Too much information too early in the morning, Sam."

"Sorry," I apologize with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes at me and then sits up against the headboard, flipping through the pages. I lean over to read, but then my stomach starts growling and Quinn just laughs.

"Go on," she chuckles, giving me a shove. "Make us some breakfast."

"Okay, fine." Getting out of bed, I try to locate my boxers on the floor, but finding it hanging on the doorknob instead. "How did this get here?"

"You have a surprisingly accurate pitching hand," she grins cheekily as I slip my underwear on. "Maybe you'll remember where you'd flung my bra at."

"You're better off without it, anyway," I tell her with a wink before walking out of the room.

Blaine is still asleep, and I'm wondering what is silent enough to make in the kitchen. I mean, I can always settle for the obvious choice—cereal with milk—but what does that say about me? I'm not a natural-born cook like my roommate, and I don't want to wreck the stove, so my options are limited as it is. Poking my nose into the fridge, I discover some fruits that I suppose I can use, so after grabbing an apple, some blueberries and two bananas, I cut them up into bite sizes and dump them into a bowl.

"I guess I can't escape the cereal," I mutter to myself, realizing that just the fruits probably won't suffice. Just as I'm retrieving the bowl, however, I notice Quinn sneaking out of my room—tiptoeing—wearing one of my shirts. It's not overly baggy, but it's long enough to cover just below her cute butt.

"I don't smell anything cooking," she teases, skipping over and sitting down on a barstool. She then takes one look at the spread on the countertop and arches an eyebrow. "Wow, chef. What fine culinary skills you have."

"Hey, don't mock the person trying to feed you," I say, trying to sound serious, but being a psychic medium, she obviously sees through the act and sticks her tongue out at me. Scoffing, I place the box of cornflakes down in front of her and head back to the fridge for the carton of orange juice. "Here you go, your royal highness."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?"

"No, ma'am," I snicker, leaning over to lay a long kiss her on the lips.

We eat in comfortable silence for a while until I hear a clicking sound and Blaine emerges from his room in a pair of sweatpants and tank top, looking slightly disheveled. The dude needs his coffee to wake up, and I've learnt long ago that he's totally incoherent before a caffeine fix. He doesn't even bat an eyelash as he passes by and mechanically starts the pot up.

"Morning, Blaine," Quinn chirps.

"Oh, crap," he jumps, startled when he realizes that he's not alone. "Jesus," he whispers, gripping the edge of the counter, trying to calm down. When all is well, he takes one good look at my girlfriend and snorts. "Had a good night, Quinn?"

"I've had better."

"What?" I spit out. "What do you mean you've had better?"

She rolls her eyes and then leans in to kiss me on the tip of my nose. "Relax, lover boy. I'm just kidding."

Great, I'm such an idiot. Feeling the heat rise up in my cheeks, I quickly duck my head down to continue eating my breakfast. I can feel Blaine watching our exchange in amusement and I shoot him a glare. Once his coffee is done, he pours a cup for himself.

"So is this official, then?" he asks, gesturing between Quinn and I. "You guys sleeping together?"

What is this; high school? This is just like living with my parents all over again.

"Dude—"

Blaine raises his hands in surrender. "Just checking."

"I guess that's my cue to leave," Quinn announces, hopping off the stool, but I grab her hand just before she's able to scamper away.

"Hey, you don't have to—"

She looks apologetic all of a sudden. "Actually, I do. I have a class, remember? And I need to get my stuff from the apartment. I'm sure Santana's left me a couple of text messages on my phone."

"Alright, I walk you back."

"Sam, you don't have to."

"No, I want to."

"Really, you don't—"

"Let the boy walk you back, Quinn," Blaine cuts in with a knowing smirk that he tries—and fails—to hide behind his mug.

"Fine," she relents. "But since you're offering, you drive."

I grin at her. "Drive, huh?"

"Regretting it, yet?"

"Maybe."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 8.45am<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

Shit, I'm going to be late for class. Damn that Puckerman and his stupid Mohawk. He'd stayed over last night, and yeah, so he totally went to town with his penis, but he could've at least woken me up when my alarm rang instead of splitting for school. The bastard.

After haphazardly throwing things into my bag, I slip my favorite stilettos on and head out to see my roommate sitting idly in the living room reading a book as though it's all perfect in her world. Well, well, well, look who finally decides to come home after ignoring my text messages. Seriously, I think I've overloaded her inbox, what with the volume I've spammed her with. Excuse me for being a caring best friend.

She glances up and gives me a smile.

"Good morning, Santana," she says pleasantly.

I scowl at her. "Don't you 'good morning, Santana' me," I snap angrily. "Where were you last night?"

Her brows furrow slightly. "I was with Sam," she replies nonchalantly.

That son of a bitch. I swear I'm going to castrate him the next time he decides to grace me with his presence.

Folding my arms across my ample chest, I arch an eyebrow accusingly at her. "And what were you doing with him?"

Her eyes don't leave the page when she answers. "Probably the same thing you were doing with Puck."

Fucking Empath abilities.

"Actually, I saw him leave this morning," she supplies. "Can't say I've ever seen him so eager to be somewhere else. Practically sprinted out the door when he noticed I was home."

Puckerman is going to be so dead when I'm done with him.

"So you're screwing around with Sam now?" I demand, turning the attention back to her.

She sighs, the irritation creeping in. "Well, what's so wrong about having sex with my boyfriend? Stop judging me, okay?"

"Your boyfriend?" The word sounds like vermin on my tongue. "Since when?"

"Since a few days ago, alright?" Quinn tells me, and I know that she can feel the disapproval vibrating out of me because her face is all scrunched up in her own form of retaliation. "I'm aware that you don't like Sam, for whatever reason it is. He didn't drag me into the group; I made my own decisions, so don't go blaming him for all this. I appreciate your concern, Santana, I really do, but I need to do this, and I really like him. He takes care of me."

There is about a million and one things that I want to scream at her for, but I can't risk any more warnings for my tardiness, and God forbid I allow my perverted lecturer the satisfaction of calling me out again with some lewd-ass remark.

"I need to go," I say. "But we're not done here."

"Okay, fine."

I open the door, about to walk out when I stop short and turn around. "Answer me something real quick?"

She cranes her neck around to face me. "What is it?"

"How is that Trouty Mouth in bed?"

There's a telltale crimson blush that colors her face all the way to the tip of her ears, and it's almost cute. I mean, she may have slept with a dude whose lips-to-face proportion hits sub-zero on the perfection scale, but I'm sure he's adequate in other circumstances.

"Talented."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 12.15pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"No way," I breathe, re-reading the paragraph in a newfound article about Roseanne House and the property when it once belonged to Violet and Ralph Savior. Reaching for my cell phone, I dial Sam's number. It rings for a few before he picks it up.

"What's up, Mike?"

"Sam, you're not going to believe what I've found about the Saviors," I tell him, still scanning through the webpage on the computer screen.

"Okay, hang on," he says. There's a slight muffling sound and then his voice gets clear again. "Where are you?"

"In the headquarters."

"I'll see you in five."

I print the story out, highlighting the necessary bits, and not long after, Sam walks into the room with Quinn in tow. They come over, and Sam and I exchange fist bumps.

"Hey, Mike," he greets eagerly. "So what have you got?"

"Read for yourselves," I tell them, passing the article over.

They read it together, Sam needing a little more time than Quinn with his forehead wrinkled in concentration, and then all of a sudden, Quinn whips the journal out of her bag and starts flipping through the pages. When Sam gets to the important part, his eyes widen into perfect circles.

"This is great," he exclaims. "It just explains so much. Quinn, the flashes—"

"What flashes?"

He turns to me, and I realize that he probably hadn't meant to blurt that bit of information out, but seriously, after all this, he's still going to keep things from me? Now, I'm just hurt, and I'm making it abundantly clear as I glare right back at him, until he eventually relents, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"After you left last night, Quinn and I continued with our research on the case." His words come out in a staccato, and then it occurs to me that perhaps I don't want to know after all. "And—erm—so we got to it, and we were, you know, making out, getting hot and heavy—"

"Sam!" she hisses, slapping him on the bicep. "He doesn't need to know that part."

"Right," he coughs, the color saturating his face. "Well, I had a couple of flashes, and one is of a man. He was forcing a woman out of a house, and there were boxes and luggage lining the pavement, so—"

"You think you saw Violet getting thrown out of the property," I conclude. When Sam nods his head, I quickly piece the scraps of information together. "So, when Ralph died at sea, Violet lost the deeds to the property that had once been in possession of Roseanne Walters, but what's the link here? What is Violet and Ralph to Roseanne? And who's Wayne Hunters to all of them?"

"Wayne is Violet's illegitimate father," Quinn cuts in. As Sam and I snap our heads to face her, she continues without lifting her gaze from the book. "Wayne and Roseanne had an affair that nobody knew of."

"What? She wrote that in the journal?" Sam snatches it out of her hands, skimming through the neat cursive handwriting. He takes one look though, blinks, and then shoves the book at me. "Damn dyslexia," he mutters under his breath.

However, as I'm reading the text, I'm not sure if it's his poor reading abilities at all. "I'm sorry, where does it—"

Quinn scoffs at our joined stupidity and retrieves the journal to explain her findings. "The Hunter, he awaits at my door that night, tearing as his maiden tells him the news. They are having a baby, a beautiful life created out of love, out of wedlock. Nobody can know."

"Maybe she's just spinning something out of her own fantasy," I suggest. "You know, it can be pretty boring if she's just staying at home all day—"

"Mike, the Hunter she's talking about here is Wayne Hunters. She needed to disguise him, and I believe that Violet Savior is her daughter," Quinn says, frantically flipping through the pages, growing frustrated by the minute as Sam and I just stand there watching her. "Sam, hold this," she grumbles, pushing the book into his chest, and before he can protest, she's up on her toes, kissing him.

"Okay, seriously, this isn't the time—and guys—" I sputter out, tearing my eyes away from their blatant public displays of affection. "This is totally inappropriate—I'm in the room for goodness sake—go make out somewhere else—"

"Quinn!" Sam gasps just then, at long last prying his lips apart. "Did you see that?"

She nods, and it's only then that I realize what she had been trying to do. "That method is actually effective?" I blink in disbelief.

"Wayne Hunters. He was standing at the door as she wrote in this journal," Sam reports. "A baby. A girl, and she was in his arms, looking up at his face—Mike, we need to know how Violet lost the deeds. If the house belonged to Roseanne, I'm sure she passed it down to her own daughter, so how is it possible that she lost it?"

I snap my fingers. "The flood," I declare. "It must've washed away everything in the house. The deeds, the documents, everything. When it was passed down to Violet, I suppose there's no legal binding stating that she owned the property. Besides, if she truly is an illegitimate daughter, I don't think we'll find any documentation about her."

"So what happened to Violet and Wayne?" Quinn wonders out loud. "Did they escape the flood?"

"I suppose so. Again, I can't find any documentation sufficient enough to join the dots. There are too many missing links," I inform them. "My guess is that even though they'd rebuilt the house on a different spot, it could still have been called the Roseanne House. Ralph Savior probably took over the property until the Camdens bought it over and renamed it."

"Could that have been him?" Quinn whispers. "That guy throwing Violet out of the house?"

"I don't know, Quinn—"

"Mike, do you have a photo of the Camdens?"

"Not at the moment, but give me a day or two and I'll get it for you," I promise.

"Great," Sam nods. "Thanks for all your help, Mike. I guess we better get going. We have that lunch meeting with Rachel and Brittany, don't we, Quinn?" he says as she starts gathering the journal and other relevant materials, dropping them into her bag. "I'll see you later at five, Mike."

"Copy that."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 1.20pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

In all honesty, I'm not so sure how I feel about this. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for exploring new methods in the name of science and my passion for the paranormal—in case anyone accuses me otherwise—but I'm a woman of hard evidence, and anything that I can't fathom physically, I dismiss it. Unfortunately, Sam's idea of involving Quinn in this investigation is one of them. Call me bitter or sour, but I refuse to accept what I can't comprehend with solid proof, I'm sorry.

I spy Brittany sitting at a corner, typing away on her laptop, so after ensuring that not a hair is out of place and that there aren't any wrinkles on my skirt, I head over, clutching my binder to my chest. She doesn't look up when I approach, and after a full minute waiting for her to acknowledge my presence, I politely clear my throat to gain her attention.

"Hi," I chirp, fixing a wide grin on my face. "Do you remember me?"

"Yeah, Rachel, right?"

"That's right. Do you mind if I join you?"

She pauses for a while, as though considering it. "Candice says she doesn't mind."

"Oh, she's here?" I ask, sliding into the vacant seat in front of her.

Brittany tilts her head dubiously. "Yeah, she's sitting right here next to me."

"Oh, well, hi, Candice," I burble cheerfully, only to be met with a disapproving smile from the blonde.

"She says you suck at faking it."

Did an imaginary friend just insult me?

Before I can open my mouth to apologize, though—afraid to offend the entity and scare it away—I hear Sam's voice behind me. "Hey, Rachel."

Just in time, I might add.

"Hi, Sam," I jump to my feet, standing to join my team leader's side. "Brittany, I'd like to introduce you to Sam Evans, and that's—"

"Quinn Fabray," she finishes for me, and as I glance over, I realize the slightly stunned look on my group mate's face. Turning to Sam, I notice the confused expression, and I'm glad that I'm not the only one who seems lost in translation.

"You two know each other?" I ask, in need of breaking the silence that's looming over us.

"Not really," Brittany answers. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Likewise," Quinn speaks up for the first time since she's arrived. "Is that Candice?"

Brittany's face instantly lights up like a Christmas tree at the mention of her imaginary friend. "Yes! You can see her?"

Quinn nods with a soft smile. "She's cute."

"Wait, you can see her?" I repeat in disbelief, wondering if she's just pulling on my legs.

"Sure, can't you?"

"N—no—what—Sam, can you see Candice?"

He shakes his head but otherwise doesn't offer a remark.

"She likes you," Brittany comments excitedly, practically jumping in her chair.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing here?" Quinn prods gently, as though she's really talking to a little girl, and I don't know which is freakier—the fact that she's interacting with something that doesn't seem to exist or that she doesn't even seem affected by it.

"Sam, do you understand what's going on?" I murmur in a low voice.

"They're communicating," he answers simply, and I can't understand how he's so nonchalant about this.

"You can't honestly tell me that—"

"Not right now, Rachel."

He focuses his attention back to the two girls, watching the exchange as though they're unraveling the secrets to the universe, and any second now, I'm expecting the rest of the team to jump out and surprise me like one of those reality television shows. There has to be cameras here somewhere, maybe Artie has hidden them well in discreet locations.

"Why have you been following me and Brittany?"

Her question reels me back into the conversation, but then they're both staring pointedly at me. Okay, what did I do now? I barely said anything.

"She's not comfortable with you around, Rachel," Brittany reveals, and Sam actually chuckles at that. "Maybe it's a good idea that you leave," she adds.

Unbelievable.

"Really?" I arch an eyebrow, planting one hand on my hip. "Candice said that?"

Brittany just stares blankly back at me. "Didn't you hear her?"

This will be a really good time for those cameras to come out now.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **First of all, if you find Sam's mystery confusing, so do I. LOL! Honestly, I'm just as confused, but I assure you, I have the story straightened out. There aren't many Fabrevans moments in this chapter, but I did slot in the morning-after for you guys, so hopefully you like it!

**Nicole:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter! Frankly, I've actually stopped watching Glee full-time, but I did catch the latest one with Quinn in it, yeah, and the Quinntana thing…anyway, it's kind of sad because some of the musical numbers are really good, especially the ones with Sam in them. LOL! Hope you had a great Lunar New Year!

**Ashley:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! Hope you've enjoyed this update as well! Cheers!

**Team Wallflower:** Hi there! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Yeah, Finn POV always cracks me up! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hi! Seeing your updates on your stories actually spurred me on to speed this up, so thank you so much for that! Also, thank you for reading and reviewing! I always appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans scenes in the previous chapter! ;P LOL! Finn's POV is one of my favorites to write because it doesn't matter how irrational it sounds, somehow his character makes it work! Quinn did in fact read his mind, if her reactions are any indication, poor girl! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the Fabrevans sexy times! That was fun to write! LOL! At the moment, Sam's mystery is one big mess. I'm writing this and even my head is in a jumble, but it'll get sorted out, eventually. Yeah, I agree with you; I mean, I feel really bad for Quinn. I'm sure she tries to block Finn's thoughts out of her head, but it's not exactly something she can fully control yet. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! Glad to see you! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've enjoyed the ending of the previous chapter! Fabrevans sexy times…yum! I'm sorry I didn't continue on from the previous scene in this chapter, but I did write a morning-after so hopefully that makes up for it. And yeah, I feel for Quinn and how Finn keeps fantasizing about her when she's right there in the room with him. Obviously he's not aware that he's sending those thought signals, and Quinn is nice enough not to snap at him in front of the others, but don't worry, I'm sure she'll mention it to him once she gets her time alone with Finn. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Overgron'sLilLamb:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Yeah, I really enjoy writing Finn's POV because he's hilarious! It's great now that Mike is in on the secret too, because he's great with research and resources, so he'll be a great help for Sam and Quinn. I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans scenes! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Agronderwood:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! LOL! I totally feel for Quinn, especially because she can't do much to stop Finn from fantasizing about her. I'm glad you liked Sam! He's dorky and sweet, he's just a perfect gentleman, and Mike being in on the secret will be a great help for Sam and Quinn too! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **Hi guys! Here's a quick update!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 38**

**Wednesday, 2.15pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"So, are you going to tell me what was going on in there or do I have to tattoo that question onto my forehead?" I ask, half-joking, hoping that Quinn will quit being so quiet. She hasn't said much since leaving the cafeteria, and the one-sided snippets that I've gotten from their conversations are hardly adequate.

She abruptly halts in her tracks, and after anxiously glancing around the empty corridor; she intertwines her fingers through mine and pulls me into a room. It's relatively small, and frankly I'm not sure what it's even used for, but at least there isn't anybody inside. Well, I suppose this makes for the perfect spot for a quickie, perhaps if she feels up to it some time maybe I'll just drag her in here.

"Sam!" she hisses, flushing a shade of crimson before laying a light slap on the side of my hip. "Get your head out of the gutter."

"Sorry, sorry," I apologize sheepishly. Those damn hormones and pheromones and testosterones; they're going to be the death of me. I'll probably end up scaring Quinn away with my sex-starved craziness.

"Sam!"

"I'm sorry," I yelp, taking a step back from her. "You're just—there—and looking all hot and stuff—it's hard, okay."

She rolls her gorgeous hazel eyes at me, but there's a hint of a smirk on her kissable lips. "Focus, Sam. Candice is the little girl."

My brows furrow as I rake through my brains trying to remember if she'd mention anything about this before, only to come up empty. "What little girl?"

Quinn hesitates for a moment, carefully weighing her words. "I see her every now and then; she sort of follows me around—in the campus, during our walk-through at the Camden House, along the corridors—she knows my name and knows who I am."

"Why didn't you ever mention about this?"

"I didn't think it was important, you know," she shrugs. "Figured it was part of my abilities or something; I just pushed it aside, until I met Candice."

"Why is she following the both of you?"

"Because she needs Brittany to get to me, and she needs me to get to you."

"Me? What—why does she need to get to me?"

She pauses then, catching her lower lip between her teeth, turning it a ripe shade of berry, and I feel the breath hitch in my throat. "Because she's the aunt you never knew."

It hits me like a train, rendering me catatonic for that split second it takes to register the brand new information. And then something clicks in my head, and I'm reeling from the news, exhausting whatever is left of my brain cells trying to recall if I've ever heard of an aunt named Candice.

"But my mom never mentioned—"

"She got sick really young, Sam, she knows she's dead," Quinn's voice drops to a whisper, lost in her own thoughts as she stares out of the window. "But like every entity wandering the earth, she has unfinished business—you."

"I'm not sure if I understand you," I mutter, not trusting myself to speak. Dealing with the paranormal have always been complicated, and a lot of times things have to be handled delicately, with a lot of sensitivity, but it's always been easier when the cases you're investigating doesn't have any direct relation to you. This, though, this is something entirely different.

Quinn tilts her head, carefully regarding me with that beautiful mind of hers and moves closer. Tentatively, she lifts one hand and places it on my cheek, cradling my face just so, and looks into my eyes. "Your mom had an elder sister. That little girl your saw last night in that flash, that wasn't your mom, Sam. That was Candice, and she was there, and Violet was her mother—Sam, she's our final missing piece."

"Then why didn't she just come directly to me?"

"It's not the same with everybody."

I inhale a shaky breath. "What else did she say?"

"Your mom wasn't even born when she died, Sam, but she did mention your aunt Penelope," she tells me. "Maybe we should visit her again—there's probably more in that chest than Roseanne's journal."

"Is that all?"

"She doesn't know much more, but at least she knows enough. It hadn't been easy for her, especially after her father perished at sea and her mom was left to take care of four girls. Violet had been pregnant with your mom when they were thrown off their property—"

"Why didn't anybody tell me anything while I was standing there in the dining hall wondering what the hell is going on?" I snap, frustrated that such crucial parts weren't conveyed to me.

"She wasn't comfortable, Sam."

"Still—"

"We don't want to scare her away, do we?"

"I deserve to know, too—"

"Sam, you need to understand—"

"Is there more that you're not telling me, Quinn?" I retort harshly, feeling hurt and betrayed that I'm being kept in the shadows. Fuck, I'm family, damn it. If anything, she should've mentioned everything word-for-word on the spot.

"No, Sam—"

"Just leave me alone, Quinn. I need some time to think."

Perhaps everything is finally taking a toll on me, or maybe I'm just being a fucking ass about my lack of psychic abilities to be able to communicate with my own blood family, but all I know is that I need to get out of that small room before I explode in my girlfriend's face and cause an even bigger screw up. I storm out of there, trudging for the door. The sudden onslaught of the sun blinds my vision, but I don't stop moving, and then I find myself at a quiet corner in the campus. Plopping down on the bench, my chest heaves from the heavy breathing and I sink my face into the palms of my hands.

Shit, this has never happened to me before, and I don't know what this is—this foreign feeling deep in the pit of my stomach—and it scares me how intense the emotions are, bubbling like a cauldron of lava. Then, all of a sudden, I'm overwhelmed with an aching sense of grief. It consumes me, an avalanche of depression just snowballing into my heart, and God, it hurts.

It fucking hurts.

I'm gasping for air, my nose still buried within my fingers, and I just want it to stop.

But it doesn't.

Until I feel a sort of coldness on my shoulder, a comfortable weight settling with just the right amount of pressure to provide the assurance and consolation that I need.

"Quinn?"

I look up, hoping to find my girlfriend.

But then I see her.

That little girl.

Candice Savior.

Clear as day.

She offers me a smile.

"It's not her fault, Sam."

Her voice is nothing but a whisper in my ear, carried in the breeze, barely audible to my ears.

And then she's gone.

Just like that; and I'm wondering if I'd imagined it all in my head.

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 3.40pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"I'm sure he's fine, Quinn," I reassure her for the umpteenth time.

"I should've told him on the spot—" she says, her voice cracking with regret. "But she looked so hesitant, and I didn't want to scare her away—"

I lay a hand over her own, giving it a gently squeeze. "It's not your fault, alright? You were just doing what you thought was right—"

"But Sam—"

"Will get over it," I complete the sentence for her, hoping it'll rest her nerves.

She had been reluctant to reveal anything when she came in earlier looking disturbed and worried, but after granting her some space to sort herself out, she completely opened up about the situation. Her recount on what had occurred in the dining room seemed like a plotline straight out of a sci-fi movie, but I've come to expect the unexpected when it came to Quinn Fabray.

"Come on, let's go grab some coffee. I'm buying."

That spurs a small, grateful smile out of her, and she follows suit as I stand up. Loosely clinging on to my arm, I lead us out of the headquarters and we take a nice stroll across campus till we make it to the below-average café nearer to the Physics and Astronomy building. The place doesn't exactly serve the best brew, and on a good day, the diluted black coffee is an acceptable shade of dark brown, but students don't normally hang here unless they're either really short on allowance or cramming for important exams. As far as possible, I avoid this disaster, but we need to be back before five for our reveal later on, so it's not like we have much of a choice.

"What would you like, Quinn?"

"A flat white, please," she replies sweetly.

I repeat her order to the barista while I settle for a macchiato, and I realize how the dude behind the counter is leering at Quinn. She shuffles uneasily and sort of hides behind me, and I figure whatever he's thinking is probably projected to my teammate. Fixing him with a warning glare, I use my body to shield her from his prying eyes.

"I want to sock him in the face right now," I murmur loud enough just for Quinn to hear me.

"He's worse than Finn," she hisses back, and I feel terrible for her. God, Finn can be so lewd with his comments sometimes, his thoughts are probably triple that of his words. With a snort, I drape my arm around her shoulder, hoping it'll send some guy signal into the jackass' tiny brain to back off.

He finally slides our beverages over the countertop and I catch the wink he sends her way. What a douche. Snatching our to-go cups, I egg Quinn to proceed out of the café first so that I can shoot one final stink-eye to Mr. Sleazy, but he simply smirks back in reply. Damn, out of my entire Asian heritage, why didn't I pick up martial arts?

"You have to deal with that often?" I ask, handing over her beverage as we make our way back to the headquarters.

She rolls her eyes. "Enough to last me a lifetime," she scowls.

"You should talk to Finn, you know," I advise her before taking a sip of my drink, wondering if the dude has spiked it with poison. "He probably doesn't realize that he's making you uncomfortable."

"I don't want to hurt his feelings."

I choke on my laugh. "Hurt his feelings? Quinn, that's ridiculous. If anything, he'd better be apologizing to you. That's like a violation of privacy—"

"I'm violating his privacy, Mike," she snickers back.

"And he's aware of that," I insist. "He knows that you have heightened abilities; he ought to be more sensitive with his thoughts."

She just shrugs in return.

"Do you need me to talk to him about it?" I offer.

Quinn turns to me with a grateful smile. "Would you, please?"

"Of course," I reply without hesitation.

"Thank you, Mike."

Back in the headquarters, Quinn and I find Artie making a copy of our findings for our client and doing the final technical preparations for the reveal. He glances up as we enter and nods in acknowledgment. Quinn immediately goes over, firing him with questions about protocols. It's hilarious, really, because she sounds like a darn investigative officer, but Artie seems to appreciate her interest, so who am I to complain?

Sam jogs in a minute later and there's an undeniable shift in the air when he fixes his eyes on his girlfriend. Artie senses it, of course—being an Empath and what not—and raises a questioning eyebrow in my direction. Honestly, this isn't my place to talk, and I find it downright rude to address such personal issues out loud, so I decide to break the tension.

"Are we all set?" I ask.

"Yeah, we're good to go."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 7.10pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

The reveal went well. I mean, sure, I think Sugar might have wet her pants a little when we showed her our video footage, and she probably wouldn't be visiting the Camden House anytime soon—or as enthusiastically as before—if her horrified expression and endless ramblings on barbwire was of any indication. In fact, we had to physically pry her off Artie's wheelchair, and it wasn't until we reassured her about a million times that there was nothing harmful in the house—or the premise—that she finally calmed down enough to reluctantly agree to let us leave.

That, or maybe it was the fifteen-minute pep talk that Quinn had with her alone in the kitchen.

Speaking of Quinn, she's talking to Mike right now. She had been relatively quiet in the car earlier on and I don't blame her for that. Even though I had already de-escalated by the time I had returned to the headquarters and had meant to apologize to her right away, I had also wanted to do it right—I still do. She deserves more than apologetic words, and I want to give her that.

"Hey."

"Hey," she echoes.

Mike takes his cue and excuses himself—good man—leaving us to our devices.

"Listen, Quinn, I—"

"It's okay, Sam," she says without malice in her tone, and damn, that actually makes me feel more of a shit-face than I was before. "I understand."

"No, Quinn, you don't—"

"I read you; read your thoughts," she explains, and this time I hear a scrape of hurt. "And I understand you. It's alright, I'm fine."

"Quinn, stop," I gravel out. "Please, just let me say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up on you like that, regardless of how I felt at the moment. You didn't deserve that, especially not after all that you've done for me. I feel like a gigantic ass and I want to make it up to you, so please, just humor me tonight and let me take you out on a date."

She considers it for a while. "Okay, sure."

A smile spreads across my face, because for me, that's a mission accomplished right there. While Quinn goes about grabbing her things, I make a quick check of the room, ensuring that computers are shut down and what not.

"You ready?" I ask, holding my hand out for her to take, which she does, sliding her fingers between mine.

"Yeah, let's go."

I decide to take her down town—a short drive away, and a small price to pay in gas allowance—but I reckon it's going to be worth it. I want to make Quinn feel like the most special girl tonight—not that she already isn't—and I also want to let her know that I'm fully committed to this relationship; that I can balance my work and my personal life out. Pulling up by the roadside parking lot, I get out of the vehicle and then rush to the other side to get Quinn's door. She grins at me in amusement as she exits the car and then stands on the tips of her toes to plant a quick kiss on my cheek, and all of a sudden, I feel like a million bucks.

"You really don't have to, you know that," she says.

"I want to," I reply earnestly, taking her hand once again to lead her into the Italian restaurant that I've heard serves the best authentic pizza in the entire state area. "I hope you're up for dough crust, tomato and cheese."

"You can never go wrong with pizza," she agrees with a nod.

It doesn't take long to find a seat—a nice private booth at a small corner—and I order for us a large signature marinara. As she glances around, taking in the surroundings, I seize the opportunity to study her gorgeous perfection. God, she never fails to stun me every time I lay my eyes on her. The way her blond hair falls in waves over her shoulders, her stunning hazel eyes, to the way the fluorescent light in the eatery bounces off her in all the right places—I can't believe this angel wants to be with me.

"Quinn, I'm really sorry for earlier, you have no idea—I shouldn't have blown up on you like that, and I can't apologize enough for it—"

"Sam, it's fine, really," she reassures me again. "I understand what you're going through—"

"I just don't want you to think that's how it's going to be like being with me," I sigh, gazing shamefully down at the tabletop. "I want to treat you right, Quinn. I want you to look at me and think that I'm the best boyfriend in the world—not some asshole who's going to pitch a fit every time something doesn't go my way—"

She giggles at that, and I lift my eyes up just as she reaches out to take my hands in hers, drawing soothing circles on my skin with her thumbs. "Sam, you are the best boyfriend in the world—a little rough around the edges, sure, but nobody's perfect. You're passionate about what you believe in, and I'll never fault you for that, ever."

"You're amazing, you know that?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she playfully says, "so I've been told."

The pizza arrives then and we dig into its cheesy goodness. I don't even realize how hungry I really am until I'm scarfing down my third slice in less than ten minutes. God, I must seem like a glutton. Taking a few gulps of my soda, I wash the food down and remind myself that Quinn has to be seen with me in public.

"Listen, I've been meaning to tell you something that happened earlier on," I begin, clearing my throat. "When I left to cool off—blow some steam—I was suddenly overwhelmed by all these emotions that I couldn't comprehend and I can't explain it right now."

Her brows furrow slightly, and I'm sure she's trying to read my thoughts. "What happened?"

"I was sitting down on a bench, you know, and then these feelings just hits me out of nowhere," I try my best to explain to her. "It was just the worst feeling ever—I've never felt anything like it, you know—like this incredibly terrible sense of loneliness and sadness. I felt lost and empty—just grief, and everything was dark—I don't know what it is."

Quinn regards me closely but otherwise doesn't comment on the weirdness.

"And then something else happened that's going to sound crazy, but I felt a hand on my shoulder," I inform her. "God, I'm a paranormal investigator and I've been touched and tugged before, but never quite like that. It's there, like really there, so I looked up and I see her. Q, I saw Candice Savior."

"What?" she breathes. "You saw her?"

"She said 'it's not her fault, Sam'."

"It's not whose fault?"

"I don't know," I admit, taking another sip of my drink. "I'm assuming she was probably referring to you. That I probably shouldn't have been too hard on you."

"She came to you," Quinn whispers in disbelief. "Oh, my God, Sam, that's great! That's huge!"

"I know, but what does that mean, Quinn?"

"It means that maybe she's ready to open up to you."

"God, this is so confusing," I murmur, swiping my hand over my tired face. "Candice is the oldest sister my mom never had the chance to meet, but perhaps aunt Penny remembered her, and Violet Savior, my grandmother, do you know how she died?"

"I don't," she answers. "Candice probably wouldn't either, so—"

"We have to either ask my mom or aunt Penny, then," I finish for her.

"Why don't we wait till Mike is able to find a photo of the Camdens?" Quinn suggests. "It might trigger a memory or something, you know."

"Yeah, you're right," I agree. After a beat, I start to chuckle. "When I had that dream all these years, I didn't imagine it'll be this complicated, you know."

She gives a short laugh, something light-hearted and easy. "This definitely doesn't cover it when I initially joined the group."

We settle into comfortable silence, reminiscing on the past few weeks and how things have escalated so much since she's stepped into my life—and I mean that in the best way possible. I remember waking up in frustration time and again, unsure why it's always been the same dream, and having nobody to talk to until she came along and with one single kiss, she just knew.

"Our first kiss, huh?" she smirks knowingly.

"The best first kiss I've ever had," I wink impishly back at her.

Just then, I catch sight of the clock on the wall and I glance down at my own watch to double check on the time. It's just a little after nine, but I suppose we both have classes tomorrow and it'll be nice to have an early night for a change.

"Come on, I'll walk you back," I say. Sliding out of the booth, I retrieve my wallet from the back of my pants, fish out a couple of bills and toss it down on the table, covering tips as well before extending my hand out for her to take.

It's only as I'm driving towards the apartment that it hits me how normal it feels to be dating Quinn, that I can see myself doing this for a long time to come—going on dinner dates, sending my girlfriend home, seeing her to her doorstep—finally, a girl who doesn't find investigating the paranormal as completely abnormal. She hums along to the song on the radio, and every so often, she'll tap a beat on her lap. It's adorable, really.

All too soon, I find myself standing in front of her door.

"I hope you had a great time, Quinn, and I really am sorry for earlier on," I say, juggling my car keys back and forth in my hands—one of those nervous habits.

She tilts her head up and smiles at me. "You want to come in?"

I believe she can see my excitement all the way from outer space, but then I remember her nightmare of a roommate and my grin falters.

"She's not home," she says, arching an eyebrow suggestively as she tugs onto my hands, unlocking the door and pulling me into the apartment.

True enough, there's not a single sign of the feisty Latina, and I hope it stays that way for a long time because I'm sure she'll personally see to it that there's a restraining order on my ass if she walks in on a little more than a harmless make-out session between Quinn and I.

Tossing my keys haphazardly on the kitchen counter, I grab onto her hips, bringing her flushed up against my front and spinning us around so that she's wedged between my body and the door. She gazes up at me through her long lashes, and I can't help myself any longer. Kneading my fingers in her soft flesh, I lean down to capture her lips in mine. A sigh escapes my mouth as I kiss her, tenderly at first, but then her fingers are weaving into my hair, deliciously massaging my scalp and the tenderness flies completely out of the window, replaced by a sudden sense of urgency. My tongue darts out to taste her, gently probing for more—one that she immediately grants and I'm rewarded with her honeyed sweetness.

"Sam…" she purrs.

"My God, Quinn."

"The bedroom. Now."

* * *

><p><strong>Wednesday, 11.45pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

I hate Wednesdays. It's a cross between running naked down Manhattan and running over a cute little kitten with a semi—long and disgusting—and fucking hell, I can't wait to drown myself in the comforts of my bed where I won't have to listen to my sorry excuse of a professor drone on about pleats and pencil skirts. Digging into my bottomless tote bag for my set of keys, I huff in frustration when I can't seem to find it.

"Damn it!" I yell in the empty hallway, flinging my hands up in surrender.

And then I figure that since the entire world is against me anyway, perhaps there's still a smidge of luck left in my otherwise unfortunate shit roll of a day, so I try the doorknob. Son of a bitch, the door's not locked. Of course, my first instinct is that someone's broken into the apartment. I remember that can of pepper spray that my grandma always insist I carry with me everywhere I go—and I suppose it's a good thing that I'm not about to be raped because with the million stuff lurking around in my bag, the douche probably would've finished the second round before I finally find it. Another string of rich expletives fly out of my mouth—never with a filter—and I realize that if there's a burglar in my house, I probably shouldn't be announcing my presence like I'm at a rock concert.

Pressing my ear against the door, I try to listen for movement, but it's silent on the other side. Maybe the asshole has left—perhaps already on the next flight out to Mexico or something—and I take a chance at risking my safety. As quietly as possible, I turn the knob and open the door, expecting to walk in on a bomb explosion, but everything seems to be in place. There doesn't seem to be any signs of a break-in or that anyone had used my house as a vessel for criminal activity at all, but I refuse to let my guard down. I scan the place, searching for anything marginally amiss, until I spot a foreign set of car keys on the kitchen counter.

"You have got to be kidding me," I mutter under my breath.

I march over to Quinn's bedroom and her door is closed. A fast listen tells me that there aren't any movements in there, but I'm not an idiot. God, I feel like a character out of _Gossip Girl_ or something, snooping around, and normally, this isn't my thing. This will totally ruin my street cred, but this is also Quinn we're talking about, and if she's in there doing what I think she's doing with who I think she's doing it with, I'm going to drag him out by his dick and snap it in half before he can even cross that threshold.

The door opens easily when I turn the knob—what a noob; fornicating without locking is like an open invitation to be busted—and low and behold, I see Ken and Barbie comfortable snuggled in each other's arms, peacefully fast asleep and buried beneath the duvet—thank God for that discretion at least—in a happy mob of blonde hair and serene smiles. Gross, how barf-worthily adorable. It nauseates me—that amount of mushiness—and I might have to go watch _Silence of the Lambs _or something to rid myself of this rainbow puke-fest, but something is stopping me from storming over right this moment to serve them a slice of the rude awakening pie.

For the first time in a long time, Quinn actually looks at ease—like she's truly happy; like she belongs—and no matter how much Guppy Lips rubs me the wrong way, I suppose I can let this one slide for now.

Until tomorrow comes, and then that's a whole different story.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So yeah! I've added in that little bit of Fabrevans drama and fluff, and some Santana humor, so hopefully you guys have enjoyed this chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the ending for the previous chapter! Rachel is a really interesting character to play around with! Yeah, well, Candice does follow Quinn around, obviously not as closely as Candice follows Brittany, so in a way, Brittany's involvement with the paranormal sort of brings Candice to meet Quinn, and then for Candice to meet Sam. I hope you've enjoyed the short sexy Fabrevans time in this chapter! I know it's not much, but the human's imagination is more powerful than words, so I trust you'll go to town with what happens in Quinn's bedroom ;P

**Agronderwood:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my previous chapter! I'm glad you liked it, and to answer your question, yes, Quinn can actually see Candice! It's like the Ghost Whisperer…LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for your wonderful comments, and I will always appreciate it! Yeah, the mystery is very tricky, and it's leading to some drama in the Fabrevans department, but at least they've worked it out :D LOL! Well, Sam and Quinn obviously did the deed again in this chapter—hope that's implied—and I'm sure they'll have more to come! Sam's back story will be revealed soon—not many chapters left in this story—so I can't wait for that! Brittany is actually a big help with the whole Candice thing, and we'll definitely find out how this all happened and how Candice actually goes about following her around. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**xSilverandGreenx:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad that you find the story exciting—especially since it's a really AU genre that I'm just spinning right out of my head—and I'm glad that you like it! Yeah, I've actually moved on from Glee, you know, been watching other tv shows, but Fabrevans will always be the one to draw me in. For me, they're the epitome of an OTP—one that's so unjustly mishandled by the writers—and I want to make them right again. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: **So sorry for the long wait, you guys! Here's an update!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 39**

**Thursday, 8.40am**

**/Sam Evans**

"Hey, stop hogging all the hot water," Quinn calls out in mock-reprimand as she knocks on the bathroom door. "Other people have to shower and get to class too, you know?"

I have to bit back a snort of laughter because just minutes ago, she's refusing to even get out of bed. Without turning the water off, I step out of the spray and quickly wrap a towel around my waist before throwing the door wide open. Her eyes bug out in surprise as I make a grab for her and unceremoniously guide her underneath the showerhead, fully clothed. She shrieks at the sudden attack and then shoots a glare my way. Chuckling at her adorably angry expression, I discard my towel to join her.

"I think I just solved our problem," I quip with an elvish grin, digging my fingers into her hips in a way I know she likes.

She puckers her lips in a disapproving pout and folds her arms across her chest to hide the prize of what the soaking wet material of her white tank top has to offer. I frown childishly at the silent punishment, even though I probably deserve it.

"Okay, I'm sorry, alright?" I sincerely apologize to her. "But you have to admit, this showering together thing is pretty sexy."

Quirking an eyebrow, I see her gaze flicker for a moment as she steals a glimpse down at my exposed little soldier—her words from last night, not mine, by the way—and the color rises in her cheeks. Damn, I can't take it when that happens because she's just so fucking gorgeous. I feel a twitch down south, and fantasies of having shower sex with Quinn starts flooding into my head before I can stop it—or at least filter and sensor the more graphic aspects.

"Sam!" she gasps.

"I can't help it, okay?" I groan in exasperation. I just can't get enough of her.

She pauses for a moment; searching my face, before a slow smile creeps into her porcelain features, and then she's reaching for the hem of her top and peeling the wet piece of clothing over her head. Oh, God, I don't think I can handle this. As vivid as my dreams are, watching Quinn strip for me underneath the shower precedes every erotic scenario in the book. My breath catches in my throat when she pushes her shorts and shimmies the cotton underwear down her slim legs. She kicks them aside, standing in front of me in all her naked glory. Her blonde hair is now a shade darker than usual as it clings to the curve of her breasts like decorative vines.

"Shit," I whisper huskily, losing all coherent thoughts. "Fuck—shit."

"Less staring, more showering, please, Sam," she teases, a coquettish glint in her hazel eyes.

Coughing in embarrassment, I reach out for the shampoo bottle, squirting its contents into the palm of my hand. Frankly, I don't know how to do this—something so personal and private—since I've never been in the shower with a smoking hot, naked girl before, and I suppose she senses my uncertainty because she takes it upon herself to make the next move. Retrieving the bottle from my hand, she mimics what I've done, but proceeds to lather up her own hair, expertly massaging her scalp. I follow suit but my eyes are trailing the foamy suds that are glistening against her body when she proceeds on to soap herself.

"You're killing me, you know that?" I murmur.

She slows down in her movements. "How so?"

"You do realize that I'm exercising an enormous amount of self-restrain right now, don't you?" I tell her. "If I so much as touch you, there's no stopping me from taking you right here in the bathroom."

Instead of backing away, though, Quinn actually leans in to whisper in my ear, her hands dangerously low on my hips, barely touching me where I need it the most. "Bring it on, cowboy."

With a guttural growl, I back her underneath the spray, rinsing off the soap and shampoo before spinning us around so that it's my turn. Squeaky-clean and free from remnants of suds, I slam our bodies together and bring my mouth down—hard and demanding—on hers. The skin-on-skin contact ignites a fire from deep within the pits of my stomach, and as she darts her tongue out to sweep across my teeth, all hell breaks loose. Barely in control anymore, I pin her against the tiled wall, inhaling the intoxicating scent of the vanilla shampoo as I trail a path of wet kisses down the slender slope of her next down the to valley between her breasts. She moans in response, tilting her head back to give me more excess. Grabbing onto the back of her thighs, I hook her legs around my waist and automatically, my throbbing member pokes and prods on her heated center.

And then we hear a couple of loud banging sounds, as though someone is trying to tear down the door.

"The both of you better not be fucking in there, or so God help me!" Santana yells from outside, clearly in a foul and temperamental mood. "Hurry your asses and stop wasting water. I have a presentation in forty-five minutes and Sam Evans, if your dick is in Quinn's _vijay-jay_ right this instant, I suggest you pull it out before I barge in there."

Wow, that just ruins it altogether.

"Why does she have to be so crude?" I wonder out loud as I put my girlfriend back on her feet.

Quinn grins with a shrug of her shoulders as she turns the shower off. "Because it works for her, I suppose. We should dry off before she really does act on her words. Lord knows she's done that on more than one occasion."

"I think it's her personal mission to torment me or something," I muse out loud, reaching for both our towels. "Some people are just sadistic that way."

"She can hear you, you know."

"Damn straight, I can!" Santana adds as an affirmation. "Hurry up Knox and Vivienne!"

"Knox and who?" I mutter questioningly while drying my hair.

"Vivienne," Quinn supplies, wrapping the towel around her body, and I almost protest at the lack of nudity. God, I'm such a pig. "Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's blonde twins."

Rolling my eyes at Santana's analogy, I do a quick check to make sure that we're both decent—well, as decent as we can be with a towel—before opening the door, where Quinn's disgruntled-looking roommate is standing like a drill sergeant ready to lash out commands.

"Good morning, Santana," I greet politely.

"Get the fuck out of my way, Trouty," she snarls, shoving past me to enter the bathroom. "God, what is this, a sauna? What do you people have for skin; buffalo hide?"

And then she slams the door shut.

"Always a pleasure talking to her," I say to Quinn, my tone full of sarcasm.

She sidles up to me, resting her hands on my bare chest and arches an eyebrow suggestively. "You know, we can always finish it in my bedroom—"

I don't even let her finish the sentence before I'm picking her up and then throwing her over my shoulder like a damn caveman. She squeals in delight, giggling as I head to her room, ready to live out my post-shower sex fantasy.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 9.20am<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

Look at that Guppy Face; sitting there scarfing down a bowl of cereal—my precious Cheerios, to be more precise—as though he's been living here all his life. Frankly, he seems almost too comfortable for a dude who is about to get the shit kicked out his blonde person, but that's all going to change. He's managed to escape doomsday last night, so he is pretty much tempting his own fate this morning—especially after draining all the hot water.

"I don't recall breakfast being included in your overnight soirée."

He spins around on the stool, the spoon in freeze-frame midway to his oversized mouth, and I swear he looks like a damn cartoon character. His eyes widen to perfect saucers and I can see the fear swimming just beneath. Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

"Erm—I was—Quinn said—"

"Save it, Macaulay Wannabe," I snap, stalking over so that I'm standing a mere three feet away from him. "I'm going to give you exactly five seconds to breathe your last prayer before I blast your head out of the door. Did you not get anything from our last conversation?"

"Look, Santana, I get that you're trying to be a good friend to Quinn, and I'm completely fine with that," he blurts out in one big babbling rush. "But you need to know that I love her too. She's perfect and I want to be with her in every way possible, so like it or not, nothing you say or do to me is going to change that."

I regard him closely, venomously staring him down, and I'm pleasantly surprised when he doesn't cower to my glare and instead meets me head on. Well, well, look who's decided to grow a pair while frolicking with my best friend under the covers. To his credit, though, Sam actually does seem genuine in his feelings, and as much as I hate to admit it, the dude does have some rather redeeming qualities—I suppose, if I can dive deep enough past his fishy lips to find them—and for a love interest, Quinn can go a lot worse.

Folding my arms across my chest, I ask, "are you still dragging her into your paranormal shit?"

He sighs and glances away guiltily. "I'm not forcing her into it, alright. I swear, Santana, if there's a way to stop her, I would've already done it, but Quinn—"

"She's stubborn like that," I finish for him, feeling a twitch of a nostalgic smile on my face as I remember the times where even I, the Great Santana Lopez, hadn't been able to break through her tough defenses.

"Yeah," Sam snickers knowingly.

There's a pregnant pause after that.

"I still don't trust you," I inform him warningly, quirking an eyebrow for emphasis.

"I expect nothing less," he says. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her, Santana, I promise. You can hold me to that."

"Don't make me regret this."

"You won't."

He goes back to eating his breakfast, and it's kind of disappointing, actually. God, I think Quinn may have rubbed off on him or something—metaphorically, of course, gross—but I'd envisioned something less anti-climatic than this shit-hole of a weak conversation. Begrudgingly, I head into the kitchen to fix a bowl of milk and cereal, the horror of sharing something with Mr. Lip Face waning with the rumbling of my stomach. My terrible luck, though, because just then, my roommate prances out of her bedroom in a trail of sunshine, rainbow and unicorns, takes one look at the civilized silence and practically skips to her boyfriend's—baby barf—side.

She drops a quick kiss to his cheek as I scoff at the public display of affection. "Did I miss something? Are you two breakfast buddies now, sharing Cheerios?"

"No even close," I scowl dangerously. "Can you two please shove your love sick mushiness elsewhere? I'm still ingesting food."

"Speaking of love sick, though," Quinn muses thoughtfully, and I can practically see the wheels turning in that psychic head of hers. "How are things between you and Noah?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "There's nothing between me and Puck," I snap back.

She winces sympathetically. "That bad, huh?"

Sam snorts back a laugh, almost choking on his cereal, and right now, I literally hate the both of them. "Don't make me gouge your eyes out with my spoon, Evans."

He's smart enough to duck out of the way after that, retreating back to Quinn's room instead, like a kicked-up puppy, and then I'm left to deal with his significant other.

"Quit giving him a hard time, San," she lightly chastises. "He got your message loud and clear."

"I don't trust him," I shrug before eating a mouthful of soggy Cheerios. "Look, Quinn, I'm sure he's nice and all, but I just don't want him taking advantage of your abilities for his benefit. I don't like knowing that he can hurt you."

She leans forward on the counter, and I realize the instant glow she has—and not just in that post-sex kind of way, but she's about as radiant as a virgin bride. Jesus, that's probably not the best image to paint, but she giggles, nonetheless.

"Do I have to remind you of my abhorrence for veils?"

Damn, Psychic.

"Just be careful, alright?"

"Don't worry, San. He's not going to hurt me."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 11.25am<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

I send a quick text to Sam, letting him know of my recent developments pertaining the Camdens. I've e-mailed him a couple of images as well, so hopefully it'll help with identifying the man that Sam and Quinn had seen in their flashes.

They have a long line of family history dating back as far as I can trace and I've managed to attain three generations' worth of information. Rick Camden is the husband—the recent owner of the house—and his parents, Bill and Martha, took over the property after that debacle with Violet and Ralph Savior. Assuming Bill is the man who'd thrown Sam's ancestors out of their own house, I suppose the picture would speak a lot for him, which will then open a can of worms for everybody.

Then, of course, we'll need to know exactly what had happened during that period of time; and from what I'd gathered from Sam and Quinn's so-called interview with Candice, it seems like she hadn't expected to be homeless, so it's pretty safe to say that the Saviors hadn't seen it coming—blindsided by a missing piece of paper.

But then, how had the Camdens known that the Saviors didn't have the deeds with them?

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 11.40am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"That's him, right there."

Quinn places her half-eaten sandwich down on the tray and glances over my shoulder at the laptop. "You're right, that's the guy; the one who threw Violet out of her own house."

I open another document that's been attached to the e-mail along with the images, and I read the different articles of information that Mike has kindly provided. He's even highlighted the important parts, and through my dyslexic haze, I make out the name Bill Camden. The newsprint scan states that he had been a property businessman of some sort, and as he journeyed across the country, he had been investing on plots of land.

"That's impossible," Quinn remarks with a slight gasp.

"What is it?" I ask, knowing that she's probably finished reading where I'm still deciphering the third paragraph.

"It says here that he had stumbled across a plot of abandoned land that hadn't been owned," she explains, running her index finger across the screen as she reads it aloud. "It's like, the Saviors never existed on that land, like they were nomads or something. Here," she goes on, pointing to another portion of the article. "Illegally inhibited by immigrants from the south, but had escaped before actions by law could be taken—"

"That's bullshit!" I exclaim. "People knew of the Roseanne House—there were pictures and documentation—"

"And the missing deeds to the land."

"Surely the City Hall keeps a copy—"

"Well, archiving probably was a mess back then, and with the amount of floods and everything else, documents could've gone missing all the time, so it's as though the land hadn't belonged to anybody because nobody could find an official statement," she theorizes. "Bill probably knew that the deeds weren't with the Saviors, and thus he made that whole story up about the illegal immigrants to cover up for the fact that he'd thrown a family out of their house."

"That son of a bitch."

"The question now, though, is why?"

I turn to face her, my beautiful girlfriend, with her brows furrowed in concentration. "Easy," I reply. "He—or somebody in his family—probably knew about Roseanne's affair with Wayne Hunters and set everything up, waited for the perfect timing to strike."

"That doesn't make sense. The only other people who would've disapproved of Roseanne's affair with Wayne would be her family—"

"And the guy who was supposed to marry her in the first place."

Quinn leans in then to plant a big kiss on my lips—one that literally leaves me breathless for a good few seconds—looking at me as though I've just won the lottery for her. "You're a genius!" she squeals, cupping my face with her hands. "We need to find more of Roseanne's journals and ask your aunt if she remembers a certain Bill Camden."

"Wait, now?"

"No, I can't," she shakes her head regretfully. "I have a class at one."

"Okay, well, what about after that then?" I ask, reaching over to steal one of her carrot sticks.

She stares pointedly at me. "Don't you have some observatory thing going on this evening to go see a comet or meteor?"

Groaning, because I'd totally forgotten about it in the midst of all the excitement, I mumble a reply. "I can always skip that—"

"No," she tells me firmly. "This isn't going to be worth it if you end up getting kicked out of the school for poor attendance."

That's so typically female, isn't it?

"Don't be such a sexist," she retorts, slapping my arm.

"But I didn't—"

"You did."

The woman is a Psychic; no point arguing with that.

"Alright, fine," I relent, giving her a mock pout. "But you owe me one."

Quinn rolls her gorgeous hazel eyes. "I owe you nothing, cowboy."

Glancing down at my wristwatch, I smirk at the time. "We have forty minutes till your next class, Miss Fabray."

"Oh, really?"

"Gives us plenty of time, now," I murmur, bringing my nose closer to hers.

"And what do you have in mind?"

"I know this one empty room that we can use to occupy ourselves with…" I trail off suggestively and my graze drops to her lips when her tongue darts out to wet them.

"So then, what are you waiting for Mr. Evans?"

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 1.35pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

"Hey, Sam!"

He stops in his tracks and then turns around, a smile lighting up his face as I jog to catch up to him. "Hey, Rachel," he greets merrily, and as we continue walking, I can't help but notice the slight bounce in his step. "What's up?"

"Are you feeling okay?" I ask him tentatively.

"Yeah, I'm great, actually," he shrugs, looking flushed. "Is there something you need?"

"Well, I'm just enquiring about yesterday's interview with Candice," I explain, hugging the binders closer to my body. "Seeing as I was shunned out of it, I'm curious as to how it played out?"

He hesitates for a couple of seconds, the small pause enough to rouse a semblance of suspicion. Obviously there's something he doesn't want me to know, and as a trained investigator—paranormal or not—reading a person's body language is an attained skill from the job. Sam of all people should know that, but his only flaw is the heart he wears on his sleeve. If ever he's being interrogated, I have no qualms that he'd succumb to the pressure or give himself away with a single fidget.

"It's just strange, to say the least," he says uncertainly. "Like listening to a one-sided conversation."

"What did they talk about?"

"Stuff, I suppose," he goes on vaguely.

"What kind of stuff?"

"I don't know; girl stuff? Something about burnt licorice?"

His answers are making me antsy, only because I'm absolutely sure he doesn't want to disclose anything. Frankly, I don't like being left out of this—not when this had been my assignment to begin with, and now here comes Quinn swooping in and taking charge while I'm being kicked to the curb. It's unfair, and I don't appreciate the injustice to my commitment.

"Is there something you're not telling me, Sam?"

He stops short and looks at me in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Does this have anything to do with Quinn?"

There's a slight edge to his voice when he counters back. "Does what exactly have anything to do with Quinn?"

"Yesterday in the dining hall," I clarify, not buying the deflection. "When all the weirdness happened with Brittany and Candice, and Quinn could see her? What was that all about?"

"Okay, listen, Rachel, I don't know what's going on, alright?" he sputters. "I have no idea how Candice knew Quinn, or how it's even possible that they can see each other, but Candice is simply a lost entity who's just trying to find her way back, and that's all I know right now. Apart from that, Quinn wasn't able to retrieve any other valuable information that can assist us in our investigation—"

"Sam, I'm sure—"

"However," he cuts in, holding a hand up to signal that he isn't done. "Candice has made it clear that she's uncomfortable around you, and I'm sure you've heard that for yourself. Therefore, Rachel, I suggest you cool it for a bit and allow Candice to come around on her own terms."

"But I—"

"See you around, Rachel."

With a dismissive nod, he trudges on towards the exit and I'm left standing in an empty hallway, reeling from the moments that had just passed. All of a sudden, I feel like I've just walked through a time warp, like a separate dimension in one of Finn's comic books, and never in my life have I felt so dumb. Failing to comprehend a situation is unlike me at all, and so help me God, this isn't going to be the first of the last time it's going to happen.

Flipping my cellphone out of my bag, I dial Mike's number.

He picks up in three rings. "Hello?"

"Mike, it's Rachel," I speak into the receiver. "Where are you?"

"Erm…tutorial," he replies, and I can hear the clacking of his keyboard. "What's wrong?"

"I'm wondering if you know anything about the connection between Quinn and Candice?"

The tapping rhythm in the background halts abruptly. "Can you be a bit more specific about that, Rachel?"

"Look, I just asked Sam about it and I think he's hiding something from me," I inform him as I make my way out of the building towards the headquarters. Seeing as I have a free period, perhaps there's something I can sort out.

"What makes you say that?"

"He seemed defensive when I prodded on."

There's a shuffling of paper on the other end. "Well, what did you say?"

"I just asked if Quinn is the reason he's not telling me anything."

Of course, it's only appropriate after that for Mike Chang to laugh at me. "You have to learn to filter your bluntness, Rachel, seriously. Look, I'm sure it's nothing important, or perhaps he genuinely doesn't know."

"Yeah, but he practically snapped at me," I explain, entering the sheltered area into a semi-crowded corridor. The extra-curricular wing is usually rather busy during lunch hour or thereafter.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Mike says, almost condescendingly.

Waving to some familiar faces, I continue my way to my final destination. "He told me to cool it with the investigation on Candice since apparently, I make her uncomfortable."

"Just do as he says, Rachel."

The door to the headquarters is ajar, and I'm expecting Finn or Tina to be in there, but low and behold, I find Mike Chang sitting in front of the computer with his back to me, a cellphone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he continues to furiously type away. My brows furrow at the blatant lie he'd just minutes ago spewed to me, and as quietly as possible, I inch closer till I'm hovering over his shoulders.

Oblivious to my presence, he adds, "you know, sometimes you do come across as imposing. Perhaps that's the reason Candice doesn't feel comfortable talking to you—"

"Who is John Camden?"

He whirls around, startled and looking like a deer caught in the headlights before gulping audibly.

"Who is John Camden?" I repeat, hanging up the call and addressing him in person.

"Nobody."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So the mystery is slowly but surely unraveling with the Camdens and the Saviors and how this all leads to Sam. Fabrevans is in a good position—all daisies and sunflowers—and now it seems that Rachel is on to something! Thank you so much you guys are sticking around! The next chapter shouldn't take as long to update as this one (fingers crossed)!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and as always, I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked Mike's protective side, and I've always loved a good Fabang friendship! Yeah, well, Sam is still a bit frightened of Santana, but he's learned to stand up to her when it comes to matters involving Quinn and their relationship. I was contemplating if I should write a scene where Santana does actually walk in on Sam and Quinn doing the deed, but I suppose I should spare all of them the embarrassment! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hello there! LOL! Well, your review did show up under 'Guest' and I'll have to moderate all anonymous reviews, so that's probably why it didn't show up straight away. Regardless, thank you so much for reading and reviewing the second time! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you liked the small drama between Sam and Quinn, and also how Candice showed herself to Sam! Well, he doesn't have Empath abilities, that I can clarify, and from my point of view, I feel that entities can show themselves to the people whom they want to show themselves to—does that make sense? She trusts him enough to open up to him and establish contact :D I'm also glad you liked Santana and how she didn't really pull Sam out by his dick! LOL! Really pleased that you spotted 'whisper in my ear' in there! I've scattered that around the story, so I'm glad it spoke of significance! Yeah, well, I suppose I'm probably going to be a little bit sad to end this because it's been so fun to write, but that means I can focus on THA! I'm excited to continue with that!

**Xvzgirl:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the previous chapter, as well as Santana's character! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Kera:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Glad you liked the ending of the previous chapter! Santana is always such a pleasure to write!

**Fabrevansloverforever:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

**Nicole:** Hi there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing despite all the technical difficulties! I really appreciate it! Are you waiting for your plan to expire before getting a new phone? What model are you using anyway? I know HTC always crashes and what not, so I suggest you stay away from that one. Thank you for the lovely comments on Build You Up! Glad you liked it! LOL!


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: **Apologies for the long wait! Work got hectic! Anyway, here's chapter 40!

Enjoy!

xXx  
>CeruleanBlues<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 40**

**Thursday, 3.15pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"Rachel's getting suspicious," Mike informs me the moment I step into the room. "She saw me researching on the Camdens and asked a few questions."

Setting my bag down on the big meeting table, I cross the room to sit on the unoccupied chair next to my Asian teammate. "What did you say?"

"Told her it was just some extra stuff that I'd stumbled across—told her I was curious."

I sigh, half in relief and half in dread because knowing Rachel, she isn't one to give up so easily. As soon as she sniffs something even slightly amiss, she'll dig into it until she finds exactly what she wants. I'd already brushed her off earlier about her queries on Candice and the unorthodox meeting in the dining hall. Surely she's up on her neck with doubts. Time to do some damage control, and soon.

"Thanks, Mike," I nod in appreciation. "Did you manage to find anything about Roseanne Walters' affairs? Was she betrothed to anybody before Wayne Hunters?"

"Hold your horses; of course I do," he smirks, somewhat cockily in that familiar way he always does when he knows he's struck gold. "I'm Mike Chang."

"Alright, then, give it to me."

He clicks on a folder on his computer desktop and opens a couple of articles. "The Walters owned a cotton mill empire. Roseanne's dad, Sid Walters was kind of a big shot and it's just natural that everybody wanted to marry into his family and continue the legacy."

"Was Roseanne the only child?" I ask, leaning forward to study the grainy black-and-white image on the screen of a man standing in front of a factory, chest puffed out in pride.

"Unfortunately, she was, and you and Quinn had been right about the Camdens," he tells me, pulling out a different article. "John Camden was the eldest son to Michael Camden, a rich merchant from Britain who had sailed to the States for a trading deal."

"He wanted a merger," I take a guess.

"Right again," Mike grins. "And of course, Sid had agreed with the arrangement—he'd be a fool not to, really. Bilateral ties were important back then in ensuring security in import and export trades."

"So I assume Roseanne had objected to the proposal because she had been in love with Wayne Hunters?"

He shrugs his shoulders and replies, "I don't know about that. Nothing had been mentioned about a wedding, or even a disagreement. With such big names, I would think the entire town would've been up in their business. However, I'm certain that if there had been any conflicts of interest, Sid or Michael could've paid off the papers from printing any negative stories."

"That sounds about right. Both parties would've wanted to protect their honor."

"Exactly."

"This is great information, Mike," I say, impressed and hopeful with the newfound knowledge. "Do we have anything on John Camden? Anything that happened to him?"

"Nothing much, though," Mike shakes his head regretfully. "Perhaps they returned to England?"

"Alright, then, I suppose that's what we need to find out. Quinn and I will be heading to my aunt Penny's house tomorrow," I let him know. "We'll probably try and dig up more of Roseanne's journals, and maybe my aunt might remember having a sister named Candice."

"Sounds like a plan, man."

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

He nods. "What do you need?"

I smile because I know that I'll always be able to trust him. "Print everything out for me, will you? I'm sure this will be a good bedtime story for Quinn."

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Mike asks with a sly glint in his eyes.

"Whatever you say, Mike."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 5.40pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Rachel ambushes me after tutorial, yammering away a mile a minute. I'm struggling to keep up, much less get any questions in edge ways so I ride it out and let her talk as I head out of the building towards the dining hall. I'm a little lazy to travel all the way into town for food, so I suppose I'll just have to settle for the less-than-appetizing dishes the school has to offer.

"And of course, you know, why would Sam and Mike hide anything from us unless they're both in on a secret that they don't want the rest of us to know?" she finally pauses to take a deep breath, giving me a slim window of opportunity to talk before she rambles off again.

"Okay, first of all, we're a team," I remind her pointedly. "Why would they hide anything from us?"

"I don't know, but that's what I want to find out," she announces determinedly.

"How are you even sure?"

"Call in an investigator's hunch. I'm having this gut feeling and it's telling me that something's up between Sam, Quinn and Mike." She's doing that's irritating thing where she's speaking with exaggerated hand gestures so that her arms are kind of flailing about in the air, and I just want her to leave me alone because I've had enough of the whole triangle thing between those three. It's giving me a migraine. Besides, Mike had make it pretty clear last night that apparently, I give Quinn the creeps, but I don't see her complaining about it. Out of basic courtesy, I would think she'd respect me enough to tell me if I make her uncomfortable in any way, and truthfully, I've seen the way Sam looks at her—like he's mentally undressing her with his eyes or something—and if there's one person she needs to stay away from—boyfriend or not—it seems to me like it would be him.

With a sigh, I set my books down on an unoccupied table and plop down on the bench. "Rachel, please don't tell me you're thinking of some weird kinky threesome shit—"

"Okay, first of all, that's disgusting, you perverted pig," she snaps, taking a seat on the opposite side of me. "Secondly, haven't you noticed how they're always together or going off on their own—those secretive glances they exchange?"

"You're starting to sound like a stalker, Rachel, and not the hot kind—"

She silences me with a sharp slap to the back of my head. "You're such an idiot," she hisses. "I'm seriously telling you that something's going on and we need to get to the bottom of it."

"We?" I raise my eyebrows skeptically. "Since when did I agree to this?"

"You didn't but it's implied."

"I don't think so—"

"Aren't you the least bit curious?" she eggs on in her usual stubborn self, her voice hitching a notch. "What if they're in some sort of trouble, you know, paranormal-wise? I mean, what if it can endanger them—or worse, all of us? I don't want to take that risk, Finn. Do you?"

I allow her words to sink in for a bit and incubate in my head.

"Okay, fine. Count me in."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 7.15pm<strong>

**/Santana Lopez**

The first thing I notice when I open the door is that the lights in the apartment are on—which doesn't happen often, at least not in the past week, it hasn't—and I'm praying to God that I'm not walking in on something that I sure as fuck don't want to see. I pause with my back to the living room, straining my ears for activities that might traumatize me for life, but it's dead quiet. I'm not hearing even the sound of the television, so I can only assume that the fornicating has blown into the post-sex cuddle fest on the couch.

"Santana?"

"Please tell me you're not naked, Quinn," I say.

She chuckles. "Don't worry, I'm decent."

Relieved, I turn around and join her on the sofa where she's reading what looks like a really old history journal. "Where's Lover Boy?" I ask, scanning the apartment for her boyfriend's presence. "He's not wasting all of the hot water again, is he?"

Quinn shakes her head from side to side. "His class requires him to stare at a meteor shower today," she explains with a semi-giddy grin, like one of those dreamy lovesick _Disney_-eque princess movies.

"What's that?" I gesture towards the book.

"Oh, it's just a journal," she shrugs with a forced nonchalance that I've grown to pick up on.

Narrowing my eyes suspiciously at it, I press on. "Whose journal?"

"Some woman's journal."

Quinn avoids my hard stare in a frail attempt to hide her guilt, and it's such a rookie mistake because without another word, I snatch the book out of her hands. She scrambles to get it back from my grasp, but I jump to my feet and hold it away from her prying fingers. Using my body as a shield, I flip to a random page in the journal and exercise some speed-reading skills. For an ex-head cheerleader, Quinn is strong and relentless. However, I'm from Lima Heights Adjacent, and I'm probably fit enough to wrestle a bull, so she doesn't stand a fucking chance.

"What the fuck is this?" I grumble after catching a couple of flowery phrases. "Shakespeare?"

"No, it's not," she answers when I return the book to her. "It's someone's diary."

"Why would you—" I stop short, putting two and two together. "You're working on a case, aren't you? That thing over there—damn it, Quinn, I thought we had a deal—"

"No, we didn't," she frowns, hugging the journal to her chest. "And for your information, this journal belongs to a lady named Roseanne Walters, and she's possibly Sam's great-grandmother."

I stare at her, speechless. "Why—what—sorry, nothing you just said is registering in my brains. What the hell is going on, Quinn? Please don't tell me it's another one of those paranormal shit, okay, because I will tell your mother—"

"Oh, great," Quinn retorts, rolling her hazel eyes. "Go to my mother. That's really lame, Santana, not to mention a low blow coming from you—"

"You can't keep putting yourself in danger, alright?" I blow up, losing the last semblance of my cool. The hysterical shit is about to hit the fan, and I don't care if people can hear me from all the way down in Australia. "You don't know what's going to happen and you can't control it—"

"I'm fine, Santana—"

"Yeah, because that's what everybody says before something bad happens—"

"I know what I'm doing—"

"No, you don't," I yell out. "You think you have it all figured out, but you don't, okay, and I'm sorry, but I love you too much to let anything happen to my best friend."

Her face visibly softens and then she takes a step and envelops me in a hug—one that's probably long overdue anyway. It's one of those cheesy moments you see on sitcoms and dramas, and I hate clichés probably as much as Quinn herself, but we both need it.

"You have to trust me on this, San."

"Please remind me to kill Sam Evans after this."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 7.50pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

After going over the plan once more with Finn just so I'm assured that he understands everything, I give him the nod and swiftly dart behind the corner at the end of the hallway. Out of my entire career as a paranormal investigator, never had I ever needed to double up as a spy, but I can't deny the rush of adrenaline that comes with feeling like Angelina Jolie in _Tomb Raider_. Okay, so not too much of the butt-kicking, gun-slinging action—nothing of that sort—though I've always envisioned myself working with the secret services one day.

I hear Finn knocking on the door, and then a couple of panicked exchanges as he puts some of his acting skills to good use. Mike is trying to calm him down or something, and when I take a peek down the corridor, I see the two boys running towards the lift lobby.

Part one: mission complete.

Checking that the coast is clear, I slip into the room and head straight for Mike's laptop. I find it conveniently on his desk, thankfully still turned on, but there's just one problem.

"Shoots, I don't know what his password is," I mutter under my breath.

Racking my brains, I begin typing random words that come to mind—or anything that would revolve around Mike Chang—and I realize just how little I know about my teammate. Nothing cracks the code—not Changchang, Changman, Mikethegreat, Mike123—I'm running out of typical password combinations.

"What are you doing?"

Startled out of my concentration, I gasp and whirl around, fearing that I've been caught. The excuse is already at the tip of my tongue until I realize the person standing in front of me.

"Hi, sorry," I blurt out, and then clear my throat. "I'm—I'm Rachel. I'm Mike's teammate from Project Paranormal. You must be his roommate."

"The name's Puck," he croons, shamelessly ogling me from top to bottom. "How is it that the Changster hasn't mentioned a hot chick like yourself?"

I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Why are guys such hormonal pigs?

"Listen, I need to get something off his computer real quick," I inform him. "It's kind of an emergency and Mike's busy so he sent me, but he's forgotten to tell me his password. Do you happen to know what it is?"

"Of course I do," he grins pompously. "But it'll come with a price."

"If you think you can get into my pants, you can forget it," I snap.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Regardless of what a predator you think I am, I just need help picking out an apology gift for this girl I'm seeing."

"Alright, but you have thirty seconds, go."

Puck starts ticking items off with his fingers. "Okay, so a dozen red roses?"

"Too easy."

"A box of chocolates?"

"She's not depressed, Puck."

"A mix tape?"

I scrunch my nose together and fold my arms across my chest. "Are you still living in the eighties?"

"How about a fancy dinner some place romantic with candles and a nice lake?"

"She'll think you're going to propose to her and will probably flee at the first opportunity she gets."

He clicks his tongue impatiently. "A soft teddy bear?"

"Now you're getting somewhere," I approve.

"How big do you think it should be?"

"Depends on how big your offense is."

Inhaling a deep breath, he blows his cheeks out. "Great, good talk," he says and starts to walk off.

"Wait," I call out. "The password?"

"_Fuckoffpuck_."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 10.20pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Quinn left me a text message earlier letting me know that she's left the key beneath the mat and I hadn't been sure what she meant by that until I realize she's inviting me over for the night. Anxiously glancing down at my wristwatch, I will for the time to speed up, barely listening to my lecturer droning on about Halley's Comet and how everybody in the room would probably only ever see it once in their lifetime. That's great, really, even though I'd already known that back when I had been a freshman in high school.

When he finally concludes his class, I waste no time sprinting over to Quinn's apartment. It takes me four tries before I'm able to unlock the door, and the instant I enter the room, a hoard of cushions come flying my way.

"You lying son of a bitch," someone whispers angrily, and as my vision adjusts to the darkness, I'm able to identify Santana's figure. Two more pillows are still clutched in her hands and I'm wondering what the fuck is happening.

"Santana?"

"Don't you Santana me," she snaps, still keeping her volume down and storms up to me. "You fucking lied to my face."

I scrunch my nose up, still slightly disoriented from the ambushed attack. "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't tell me Quinn was helping out on a case that involves you and your family's history." The Latina jabs me on the chest with her manicured index finger. "You told me that you didn't force her into this—"

"I didn't, I swear—"

"You bastard—"

There's a click and all of a sudden, the living room is illuminated with light.

"What on earth is going on?" Quinn demands as she plants her hands on her hips, taking in the scene and noticing the throw pillows all over the floor. "Santana Lopez—"

"Say goodbye to your boyfriend, Quinn because this is the last time you're going to see him in one piece," Santana snarls without taking her eyes off me, and in the brightness, she looks even more menacing than before. God, I feel like a trapped mouse that's about to be devoured by a starving lioness with the way she's glaring holes into my skull.

"Stop it, okay? We've talked about this," my blonde girlfriend steps in to save the day—and my life—before she marches over and grabs me by my wrist. "Come on," she adds, tugging me into the safe confines of her bedroom. I open my mouth to say something, but as soon as the door closes behind her, she silences me instead by pressing her lips to mine. Never one to shy away from such a privilege, I enthusiastically respond to her soft kisses.

"Well, hello there," she purrs in a mischievously seductive tone, and I know I'm in for one heck of a pre-bedtime ritual. "What took you so long?"

"Hi, gorgeous," I smile down at her, caressing the soft skin of her cheeks with my thumbs. "I would've arrived sooner if _someone_ hadn't insisted I attend class and listen to the comparisons between meteors, comets and asteroids. By the way, I take it you told Santana about this whole…I don't even know what to call it anymore."

"Yeah, we sort of butted heads earlier on and I realize the only way to make her understand the situation is if I explain it all to her, you know," she says, and then wraps her arms around my neck to bring our faces closer together. "But enough about my best friend. I think I've found something in Roseanne's journal."

Quinn pulls away before I can steal another kiss, and jumps onto her bed to retrieve the book from the nightstand. She motions me over, patting the empty spot next to her, so after slipping my shoes off, I climb on and automatically, she curls into my body, situating herself between my legs.

"Comfortable?" I smirk.

"Very," she nods and then opens the journal to the page with a slim bookmark. "Okay, check this out, on the very last page: 'He knows. He has for a while but I plead for his silence, for he has to take pity on my unborn child.' Sam, do you understand this?"

"Do you reckon she's referring to John Camden?"

"I've read through the entire journal twice and I couldn't find a name—nothing at all—so I can't be sure, but this line tells us so much, that someone obviously knew of her affair with Wayne Hunters," she muses out loud. "We need to find out if there are other journals after this one."

"Right, okay, why don't we drop by Aunt Penny's house during lunch tomorrow?"

"Sounds like a good plan," she shrugs.

"You want to know what else sounds like a good plan?" I murmur into her ear, circling my arms around her waist.

"What?" she whispers as she leans into me.

"Going to bed every night with you in my arms."

She hums in agreement. "I like the sound of that too."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 10.40pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"Hey, so how did the emergency go?"

I glance up from my laptop at Puck as he heads for the kitchen, and my eyebrows knit in confusion. "What emergency?"

He pours some milk in a mug. "The one that Rachel mentioned to me earlier on—the one that she came in to use your computer for? She needed your password."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, she said that there was some sort of emergency—"

"Hang on," I cut in. "There was no emergency. I stepped out for a while because Finn had a deadline and he told me his hard disk wasn't working. When did she come in?"

"A little after you left, I suppose."

"Shit."

Immediately, I whip out my cellphone, hitting the speed dial for Sam's number. He doesn't pick up at first, and it goes straight to voicemail, so I decide to call him again. Whatever playtime he's having with Quinn, it'll have to wait.

"Hey, Mike?" He definitely sounds a little preoccupied. "Now's not a good time—"

"We have a problem. Rachel knows."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The plot thickens…dum, dum, dum (dramatic music plays in the background). LOL! Okay, so this is sort of like a filler chapter—a tad bit shorter than my previous update—but it's moving the story along in terms of Rachel and how she's trying to figure things out. The next chapter will involve Candice/Aunt Penny/Quinn/Sam, and whether or not Rachel gets involved in Sam's secret.

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, as always! I really appreciate it! I'm arranging for a scene, perhaps in a later chapter, where maybe Santana might walk in on a little something-something. I can't wait for that! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Ashley:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Hope you've enjoyed this update! FABREVANS!

**Nicole:** Hi there! Glad to hear from you! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! 'Exhausting' would be in a positive or negative context? I'm glad you liked the Santana action. She's slowly coming to terms with Quinn dealing with the paranormal, so I'm sure after this, she won't freak out about it as much as before. So, Rachel does something in this chapter that she shouldn't, and it's bound to create some drama amongst the group! Hope you've enjoyed it!

**Kera:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you've liked the previous chapter, and I'm happy to know that you liked Santana! She's a hilarious character! And of course, I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans scenes as well! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! There's no need for apologies :D You're on vacation! No stress necessary :D Have fun! I'm glad you loved the shower scene! It was just something cheeky and light-hearted, especially with Santana, and after all the seriousness, I reckon Fabrevans could use a good break to enjoy themselves! Sam, Quinn and Mike are getting closer in joining the dots, but the trouble now lies with Rachel. What will happen now that she knows? Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: **Okay, don't shoot me! I am aware of the incredibly overdue update, and I apologize for the long wait! I was away on vacation for two weeks in LA for a dance camp, and when I came back, I had a pile of work for me to complete, so that took up a lot of my time. Regardless, though, I love this story too much not to write it, and voila!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 41**

**Thursday, 1.40pm**

**/Finn Hudson**

My cellphone hasn't stopped ringing since twelve but I seriously can't be bothered to get out of bed to answer it. I mean, I finally have today off from classes and I intend to fully utilize my time catching up on my REM cycle. In my defense, I blame Rachel for my current predicament. She had kept me up all night video chatting about the stuff she'd found on Mike's laptop and trying to make sense of all the information. Fine, so I'd zoned out twenty minutes in, but it's just like her to be oblivious about the obvious.

The fucking thing is still going off on my nightstand and it's slowly driving me insane. Even the pillow can't muffle out the blaring nuisance. Who the hell is that, anyway? He or she must've called like fifty times or something. It finally stops—pauses for a mere five seconds—before starting up all over again.

Fuck my life.

"God, give it up, already," I groan, blindly reaching over for the object and promptly switching it off.

The heavenly sound of silence instantly fills the room. With a sigh of pure satisfaction, I sink back under my duvet, my eyelids already falling shut.

That is, until someone starts banging on my door.

Not just Sam's way of saying 'wake up, dude' sort of knock, but more of Rachel's trademark 'you better not be ignoring me' rattling that always drives my fellow neighbors up the damn wall.

"Hudson, open up!"

Son of a bitch; speak of the devil and she appears.

"I know you're in there! My phone tracker says so!"

Is she for real?

"You know, avoiding me is only going to make it worse."

My eyes pop open because regardless of what she says, that shit is true. Rachel will—and did once—break the door down. Of course, her excuse was that she had smelled gas and was worried for my wellbeing, when really, she had a paper due in ten minutes and her printer had run out of ink. That being said, I'm not going to trust her on this so-called emergency.

"I'm not avoiding you, Rachel, I'm ignoring you," I yell back a retort.

"Same difference," she sasses, and I can almost imagine her standing in the hallway with one hand firmly planted on her hip. "Open up, now!"

I wonder how long it'll take before she either realizes the door is unlocked and barges in, or gives up completely on convincing me to move my ass and leaves. Choosing on the latter, I scoff to the ceiling before hiding beneath the safe cocoon of my comforter. She'll figure it out soon enough but at least I'll still be in bed.

All of a sudden, I feel the covers being ripped away from my body. "Get up, now," Rachel snaps with a sharp slap to my outer thigh. "We still have a lot to figure out about this Mike situation."

"For the thousandth time, why can't you just ask him about it?" I grumble, sitting up in bed.

"Because it's obvious he's not going to tell us," she scowls. "Hurry up and get dressed, will you? I think I might have an outline on what's going on but I need help linking them together."

Swiping my palm over my face, I ask, "don't you have class?"

"I'm a straight-A student," she huffs haughtily. "I'm sure I can afford to miss three hours of reiteration on what I already know."

Well, someone surely had an extra dose of ego in her Wheaties this morning.

"If you're such a straight-A student, then why do you even need me on this?"

She folds her arms across her sweater vest-covered chest. "Because listening to you rant stupid things makes me feel smarter."

Bitch.

"First of all, let me remind you that you need my help, and that insulting my intelligence will not fare well with you on that department. Secondly, please get out of my room. I'll meet you in the usual café in half an hour."

Nodding her head, Rachel adds, "be there a minute late and you owe me coffee."

Yeah, whatever.

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 2.20pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"You ready to go?" I ask after dropping a kiss to the back of her neck. Quinn's sweet scent lingers in my nose as I stare at her gorgeous reflection in the mirror. Her silky blonde hair is swept up in a ponytail and is now applying a light coat of gloss to her lips, making it look all the more inviting to me.

"Uh-huh," she replies, smiling at me. "How was class this morning? I hope you weren't late."

Habitually, my arms snake around her waist, drawing her closer to me. "Well, that shower was worth the fifteen minutes of tardiness. I hate that I had to rush out right after, though. Why don't you have class today?"

She shrugs her shoulders non-apologetically. "My professor called in sick."

"Lucky you," I groan, nuzzling my nose in that sensitive spot behind her ear.

I feel more than I hear her breath hitch in her throat, that telltale sign of knowing that I'm turning her on. I love it, because she's just so damn sexy every time, especially when her face and chest flushes a deep red. Perhaps we have some time for a fast quickie before we head off.

"No, Sam, we don't," she answers my unspoken question for me in that Psychic way of hers. "And you know very well that once we start, we both wouldn't want to get out of bed."

So true.

"But you're just so fucking hot," I murmur into her shoulder, pressing my front insistently to her back. "It's impossible to resist you."

"Sam—"

"Ten minutes, tops," I promise.

Quinn seems to consider it for a second, the wheels turning in her head as she thoughtfully chews on her bottom lip. Taking the delay as an opportunity, I languidly trail my tongue up front the tip of her spine to the exposed skin where her hairline starts. She gasps softly, goosebumps rising where mere moments I've left a heated trail, and boldly, I allow my hands to venture lower where I know she is most submissive. My fingers trace the waistband of her lace underwear from beneath her floral dress, and with a whimper, she leans into my touch. Shoving the material aside, I slide one digit in, groaning at the warmth, her area sleek and wet.

"Fuck, Q."

She whips around then, pushing me down so that I'm sitting on the edge of the bed. Her dexterous hands unzip my fly in seconds, freeing my throbbing manhood from the confines of my boxers, and before I can register any of it, her lips have descended on mine. Using my momentary distraction to her advantage, Quinn straddles my lap and sinks down on my straining member.

"Shit," I hiss, eyes sealed shut. "Shit, you're so tight."

As she starts to move, my fingers dig hard into her hips, and although it'll be so fucking amazing to mark her as mine, I seriously hope I'm not bruising her, but I'm sure that if I don't hold on to her, I'll probably fly off the ceiling. She's doing these things—that magical way she's riding us both to the edge of the cliff—and I can't hold it anymore.

"Quinn—"

"Sam—"

I'm seeing bright spots as I unload into her, stilling her in place as I finish off, and then we're collapsing on her soft mattress, our unstable pants echoing off the walls in the bedroom. My throat is dry and I'm still coming down from the high, but fuck, we've never had sex quite like this before.

"You were right," I whisper between gulps of air. "I don't want to get off this bed, now."

"No, no, no," she says resolutely, springing upright. "We need to get our asses out of here. No more fooling around."

From my comfortable position, I watch as Quinn starts fussing about her appearance, trying as much as possible to hide the post-coital hair style and smooth out the wrinkles on her dress.

"Stop staring at me."

"But I love staring at you," I tell her, quirking a lopsided grin. She turns around to face me and then rolls her hazel eyes, and I can't help but chuckle. I love this about us, the ease in which we communicate and the trust in our relationship to not keep secrets from each other. This entire wild goose chase with my family history is insane, and half the time barely believable, but even then, Quinn is the one person who has flawlessly managed to accept the craziness. "Have you ever wondered what's going to happen once this is over?" I ask, slowly sitting up.

Her brows furrow slightly as she regards me with a tilt of her head. "What do you mean?"

"This—this whole episode and us trying to solve a mystery, it's all very exciting, but what happens after this is done? I hope you don't expect every case to be like this."

She grows a little inquisitive. "I don't. What's really—" she pauses, presumably because she's read my thoughts. "You're worried about us? Whether or not I'll get bored with you?"

Embarrassingly enough, she has taken that straight from my mouth. "Yeah."

"Oh, Sam," she sighs, taking a couple of steps forward to stand between my legs. Her warm hands cup my cheeks as she looks into my eyes. "I'm not in this just for the roller coaster ride. I like you a lot, Sam Evans, because out of everybody who knows me, you understand me the best. You're honest in your opinions and you genuinely want to help people, so even without all these going on, I'd still be with you."

Rising to my feet, I grasp onto the column of her neck and plant a long kiss on her lips. "You're perfect, you know that?" I murmur, leaning my forehead against hers.

"You're pretty awesome too," she teases, playfully poking my ribs. "But we seriously need to get going before your aunt starts calling or something."

I heave an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, fine. If we have to."

"You did inform her that we're dropping by, right?"

I avert my gaze guiltily to the wall. "Uh…well…"

"You didn't?"

"I'll call her now."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 2.55pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

"Are you even listening to me?" I snap at Finn, glaring at him from over my laptop after he fails to answer my question.

He blinks rapidly back to the present. "What? Yeah, of course."

Does he take me for an idiot?

"Then what did I just ask you?"

"Erm…" he trails off blankly. "John Camden?"

Narrowing my eyes at him, I prod on. "What about John Camden?"

"Something about his relationship with Roseanne Wallace?" he takes a guess

"Walters," I sternly correct him—and not for the first time, too. "The Walters were practically royalty back then and the Camdens were traders from the United Kingdom who had sailed to the States for business opportunities. So now, here, we have two empires in one place—do you reckon they were fighting for dominance over the area but perhaps John and Roseanne had some kind of secret affair?"

"Can you remind me again why this matters to you? It doesn't seem like this story affects us in any way," Finn points out, his annoyance apparent.

"Because I know Mike, and I know that no matter how much of a research junkie he is, he wouldn't go to these extremes for a case that's already closed," I patiently rationalize to him—again, not for the first time. "There has to be more than this."

"Look, Rachel," he begins, closing his computer. "The only reason why I'm doing this is because you had a hunch that Sam, Quinn and Mike are hiding secrets from us, but now that I'm seeing this, I can't find a connection. And this Candice thing, it doesn't make any sense—nothing makes sense, and I'm tired of trying to figure it out. I have assignments to complete, alright? My advice to you, Rachel, is to just drop it."

"But—"

"Don't, okay?"

And then he starts packing up, and I take that moment to reflect on his words. As much as it pains me to admit, Finn is probably right, which is a rare occurrence altogether, but I can't shake off the fact that something fishy is going on with the three of my teammates. The hushed conversations, pulling me out from the Brittany's case, the terrible lies—if all that doesn't spell out suspicious, then I suppose I need to reconsider my position as an investigator.

"Finn, wait—"

"What is it now?"

"I don't think the deeds are stolen," I blurt out. "I think someone hid it to ensure that it wasn't destroyed."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 3.35pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

The door swings open and Aunt Penny greets us with that ever-present cheerful smile—one that probably borders on overbearing if you're exposed to it for more than five seconds—before enthusiastically hugging us both.

"Hi, Aunt Penny," I smile politely when she finally releases me.

"Hi, you two," she exclaims brightly. "Come on in."

Quinn and I enter the house; already familiar with it from the previous time we were here, and I notice that there's a change in curtains and cushions. There's even a plate of brownies and two glasses of orange juice on the coffee table. A guilty feeling settles in the pit of my stomach because my aunt has been so hospitable, the least I can do for her is to probably bring a fruit basket or something.

"We'll send one tomorrow," Quinn whispers from behind.

I nod. "Please remind me."

"There are brownies and drinks on the table for you; please help yourselves, alright?" Aunt Penny says. "Make yourselves at home. You know where the things are, so just yell if you need anything. I'll be in the kitchen baking George's favorite apple pie."

"Thank you so much, Aunt Penny," I tell her graciously. "We'll try to be quick."

"Don't be silly," she waves us off. "Take all the time you need."

I lead us both up to the attic, the old smell of wood and dust automatically filling my nose the moment we enter the small space. The chest is where it had been—untouched and unmoved—and we automatically zero in on that. Lifting the lid, Quinn and I begin sorting through the items inside. There are vintage items—books, classics mostly—and some knitting materials.

"Well, that's it," I announce dejectedly when I realize that we've reached the bottom of the chest. "No journals, no documents."

"We need to find something else—something incredibly personal—"

I turn to face my girlfriend, confused. "What for?"

"Do you remember how I had flashes when I touch certain objects?"

It clicks in my head what she's suggesting, but as I study the amount of boxes piled up in the attic, I'm a little wary of the idea. Quinn senses my hesitation and shrugs apologetically.

"At least the boxes are labeled—somewhat," she points out, going for the one nearest to her. "There's a box here for wedding gifts, 1991. Don't think this is what we're looking for."

"Perhaps we should've brought Mike along with us," I snort while swiping a layer of dust off the box to my left. "He's like a human information detector or something."

Half an hour later, we've practically shifted the entire attic around, venturing deeper into the older boxes, where unfortunately, also where the bigger spiders reside in. I probably have a headful of cobwebs sticking to my hair and clothes right now, but I have a tingling feeling that we're getting closer to what we're looking for. The labels on the boxes appear older—more faded and yellow—and some have lost their stickiness and are peeling off.

"Sam?" I hear Quinn calling out to me from her own corner.

"Yeah?"

"I think I might have something here," she replies.

It takes me a while to maneuver over to where she is and I stop to find a cardboard box—weathered and almost giving way under the weight of the other two smaller ones that are stacked up atop of it—without a single label. Quinn helps me in removing a box while I set the heavier of the two gently down on the wooden floor. Even though it's sealed shut with three layers of tape, time has made unraveling it easy, and with a sharp rip, I lift the flaps, my heart pounding a mile a minute in my chest.

"Wow," I breathe, staring down at the dresses and stockings, delicate lace and hand-sewn garments, and I realize that we've stumbled across what can possibly be Roseanne's clothes. Tentatively, I reach out, lightly tracing my fingers over the fabric, scared to do much more for fear of it disintegrating in my hands. "I can't believe this, Quinn."

She glances wordlessly as I rifle through my ancestor's belongings, quiet and hesitant.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she whispers, and then clears her throat. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, it's just, there was a sudden hit of energy when you opened that box that feels weird, and I don't know what it is that's—"

"Do you want to get out of here?" I ask, concern lacing in my words because the safety of my girlfriend comes first. If she doesn't feel comfortable here, then I'm not going to force her to stay. "We can leave—"

"No, no," she is quick to assure me. "It's gone now. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" I ask again. "Because it's totally okay if we—"

"I'm sure, Sam."

"Alright, then, but you'll let me know if—"

"I will," she promises, a smile gracing her lips.

Returning my attention to the box of clothes, I continue sifting through the articles. From my peripheral vision, I notice another pair of hands joining me in my search, and I still for a moment, gauging Quinn's reaction to the items. She appears calm, a little apprehensive if anything, and maybe a tad bit baffled.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she informs me.

"Come on, Quinn, you can tell me."

"No, I'm serious," she insists, now genuinely confused. "If these clothes really belonged to Roseanne, I should be able to pick something up, but I'm not getting anything—"

There's a pause as she spots something else in the box.

"Q?"

Reaching down, she slowly pulls out a tattered ragdoll—sewn out of scraps of fabric with yarn for hair—and inhales a sharp intake of air. "Sam!" she gasps and then swivels around towards the entrance of the attic. "Candice, did this doll belong to you?"

Shit. Holy shit.

"Candice is here?"

"Sweetie, can you show yourself to Sam, please?" she requests gently. "It'll be fine. He won't tell, I promise. You did it before, didn't you? Just try."

I'm darting back and forth between them—Quinn and the empty space over the trap door—and right before my eyes, she materializes in an apparition—faint and translucent—exactly how it had happened the other day on the bench. A shiver runs straight up my spine in an out-of-the-body experience, and I'm afraid to blink even for a split second. I watch, mouth slightly agape as Candice begins to walk—or float—towards me with a shy smile.

"Hi, Sam."

Her voice tinkles in the still air, nothing but a mere whisper in my ear, but I hear her loud and clear.

"Hi," I manage to croak out.

Quinn steps up and hands the doll over, and once again I'm blown away at the scene unfolding in front of me. I've witnessed objects levitating and moving before, but never quite like this. Candice hugs the doll to her tiny chest, smiling gleefully at the reunion of her companion.

"Sam, I think it's time we talk to your aunt. She might be able to help us."

Refusing to take my eyes off Candice, I mutely nod in agreement, and just like that, Candice disappears, the doll dropping to the dust-covered floor, slumped and motionless.

"Maybe we should—"

"Yeah, grab that for me, will you, Sam?" Quinn says. "It'll help us later."

Gathering the stuffed doll from the ground, I tuck it in the back pocket of my jeans as Quinn straightens up the attic as best as she possibly can, and together, we descend the ladder and head towards the living room. The brownies are looking really inviting right now, and I can't resist scarfing down two perfectly cut squares, draining them down with half a glass of orange juice. Quinn looks on, amused, but before I can defend my actions, Aunt Penny enters the room, the delicious aroma of apple pie wafting after her.

"Did you two find what you need?" she asks.

"Yes and no," I tell her, retrieving the doll from my pocket. "Aunt Penny, do you recognize this?"

She takes one fleeting look at it and the color drains from her face as various shades of emotions play upon her features. "Where'd you get that?"

"In a box in the attic," I answer her. "Do you know who it belongs to?"

With a slightly trembling hand, she plucks the doll from my grasp, tenderly cradling it in her palms. Her eyes fill up with tears and I feel Quinn's fingers sliding between my cold ones. She gives a small squeeze, a sign that she's reading into Aunt Penny's thoughts, and when I turn to face my girlfriend, there's a trail of moisture down the side of her cheek from the corner of her eye.

"Hey," I murmur. "You okay?"

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," Quinn chokes out. "I'm so sorry you had to see your sister like that."

Aunt Penny snaps her gaze up to meet Quinn's. "What—"

"Candice; that's her name, isn't it?"

"How'd you know about—"

She laughs quietly, a strangled cry at best. "She doesn't want you to cry; says that you look prettier when you smile."

My aunt fixes me with a mildly hysterical look. "Sam, what's she talking about?"

"Aunt Penny, there's something we need to tell you, but you need to promise not to freak out, okay?"

"I don't understand—"

"You will soon enough, but I need you to promise me first," I say.

She nods slowly. "I promise."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 5.10pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

I've been searching for her all day, and finally I've found her sitting all alone at a circular table in the campus café. She has her laptop out, a thick binder on her lap and a half-empty mug of coffee to tie her down. Furiously, I march over, hell-bent on giving her a piece of my mind for invading my privacy.

"I can't believe you."

She jumps, startled at my appearance, but then she takes in my demeanor and her expression does a one-eighty. Rachel knows that she's busted—that I have it all figured out—but I'm not sure which one she's more ashamed of: committing the offense or being stupid enough to get caught. Still, I would think she'd be smart enough to cover her tracks, but perhaps I've overestimated her.

"Why'd you do it?" I demand to know.

Her mouth hangs open for a couple of seconds as she struggles to form a coherent sentence—possibly a lie or whatever, not like I can trust her at this point of time with the truth—and I wait patiently, silently seething with betrayal.

Finally, she settles with, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Cut the bullshit, Rachel, I have no time for your games," I snap, about to lose it altogether. "If I run a fingerprint test on my keyboard, will I be able to find yours?"

There's a slight flicker in her eyes, but she seems adamant on keeping up with the charades. "Seriously, Mike, what is this about?"

I slam my palm down on the table, not even bothering if I'm making the scene. Normally, I'd hate to draw unnecessary attention to myself, but right now, I'm beyond caring. "This is about you snooping around in my laptop and invading my privacy. You know what you did, and I'm disgusted, Rachel."

"What is it about the Camden case that's so fascinating to you, anyway?"

That's just like her to admit to something in a round-about way without really admitting to it. If she's studying to be a lawyer, she would probably make a damn good one, but I can't stand for her nonsense. "Like I've mentioned to you before, it was just some extra information that I'd stumbled across."

"We can do this two ways, Mike Chang," she rebuts with an unimpressive frown. "You can either tell me what is it that you, Sam and Quinn are hiding, or I can continue worming your roommate into telling me your passwords. What's it going to be?"

"This is unbelievable, Rachel," I flare up. "You need to stop this. Consider it my final warning to you and if you know what's best for you, you'll let it go, or so help me God."

I spin on my heels to leave, heaving with so much pent-up frustrations at my teammate, but then she stops me.

"Wait. You know that deeds to the house that's missing? I don't believe it's gone. I think someone hid it."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** OMG, took me long enough, right? Either way, I got the front bits out, so what follows next will definitely be the scenes with Aunt Penny/Sam/Quinn and just how much information she'll be able to offer to the mystery. On the other hand, Rachel has a theory. Will Mike hear her out despite all that she's done to break his trust?

**Kera:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked how it went, and also with the Fabrevans in the end. There's a steamy Fabrevans scene in this one. Hope you've enjoyed that :P Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story. As usual, you've never failed to put a smile on my face! I'm glad you liked Rachel! She's a bit overbearing and irritating in this story, I know, and I probably make her seem like a bad person half the time, but just know that her heart's in the right place :D I'm also glad you liked Santana! She's always a fun character to write! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I love talking to the readers, and especially since all of your took the time and liberty to read and review, I owe it to you guys to at least reply to them :D I'm glad you liked that particular line! It was an inspiration from something one of my friends said—like he blurted it out of the blue and I just borrowed it for the story :D LOL! It took me a while to find the perfect password for Mike's computer but I reckon it's appropriate, what with Puck always raiding his laptop anyways. I'm glad you loved the Fabrevans scene at the end, and that you've managed to catch the line from the journal! And Rachel's going to be a bit overbearing and annoying, but her heart's in the right place, and in a way, she's sort of lending her brain to the mystery even though she has no idea what's going on. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Dosqueen67:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading my story and leaving a wonderful review! I'm glad you liked the concept of paranormal and romance. I felt that it's something different and the possibilities are endless, especially for the extent of Quinn's abilities :D I'm glad you liked Mike's password! Took me a while to find a perfect one, and that just came out! Glad to know it made you laugh! :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: **Chapter up!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 42**

**Thursday, 5.25pm**

**/Sam Evans**

"Remember when I told you that I needed some stuff for a school assignment?"

Aunt Penny nods in acknowledgment, and I swallow back a grimace, knowing that telling her the truth is going to nip my ass a little.

"Well, I lied." Her brows furrow, the dawn of disappointment starting to creep in her features, but I'm quick to amend my words before she decides she's going to go straight to my mom with this. "I mean, it wasn't technically a lie; I just stretched the truth a little."

"Samuel Evans—"

"Let me start from the beginning," I blurt out because damn, I hate it when the adults use that tone on me. My mom did it all the time and it's proven to be a very effective guilt-tripping mechanism. With a sigh, I rake my brains for the perfect point in my life to start my story.

My aunt waits patiently as I sort my thoughts out and I can't help glancing over at my girlfriend for some strength and support. She reads me perfectly as always and laces her fingers through mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. A rush of warmth explodes in my chest, accompanied by a wave of calmness, and I wonder if that is Quinn's doing.

Clearing my throat, I begin, "I've always had the same dream since I was a kid—probably since the third grade—and I never knew why. It'll start with a ball of light rolling towards me, and before it gets too close, it just vanishes into thin air. I'd be falling into this bottomless pit of darkness and then all of a sudden I'd be in a river, struggling against the current to keep afloat. Every time this happens, I'd see him—a man—just waiting in the shadows. I'd call out to him for help but he'd just stand there, and I'd wake up just soaked in sweat."

I pause, mostly to compose myself and to figure out the best possible way to relay what comes next.

"Now, before I move on, though, you need to know something about Quinn."

Aunt Penny shifts her attention, now focusing solely on my girlfriend like she's the most interesting specimen on the face of the planet, and I realize that there's no easy way to do this, especially without making it sound like the girl I'm in love with is a freak of nature.

There's a soft slap to my arm. "Did you just call me—"

"Sorry, sorry," I yelp. "It was a passing remark."

"What's going on here?" Aunt Penny asks, narrowing her eyes in suspicion as she gestures back and forth between the both of us.

Time to bite the bullet.

"Aunt Penny, Quinn is a Psychic, which means that she's able to communicate with the paranormal," I blurt out in one breath. "She can see things—entities—that we can't. She can read minds and has the ability to tell the history of an item just by touching it, and in this case, she read me clear as day."

"That's unbelievable," Aunt Penny remarks in amazement. It catches me off guard for a second because I'm not sure if it's from years of raising my cousins, but for a woman, she taking this craziness in just fine. I suppose she's probably seen and heard enough madness to last a lifetime—or maybe my mom's mentioned a thing or two about my involvement with the paranormal business.

"It actually kind of is," Quinn chuckles good-naturedly. "For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me."

"How'd you find out about Sam's dream?"

Trust her to throw in the million-dollar question. Immediately, I feel the heat flooding into my cheeks, remembering that one fine day.

"I—I kissed her," I admit, albeit reluctantly. Damn it; that was so fucking embarrassing.

Aunt Penny's eyebrows spring up in surprise. "Did you, now?"

"He did," my girlfriend confirms with a cute giggle.

"And then you somehow saw into his dreams?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Quinn answers, "more or less."

Suddenly intrigued by the turn of events, Aunt Penny sits up straighter on the sofa, leaning forward in anticipation for the next part. "So what did you two do after that?"

"She offered to help me figure out what the man wanted from me," I proceed to explain. "But then one day, the dream changed, and we stumbled onto the name Wayne Hunters, a house and a door with the numbers one forty-two on it. It didn't make any sense to us at that point of time—nothing did—but we knew we were moving forward, so we didn't stop. Venturing further into the dream, we saw a man with a shovel in his hands, digging the ground, and we saw his face. He had these piercing blue eyes, but before we can react to it, we found ourselves back in the river, floating on a wooden door with those same numbers on it. The next thing I know, we were falling again, and everything just stops."

I check to see if Aunt Penny is still following the story, and she motions with her hand for me to continue.

"Quinn and I started going our research, cross-referencing Wayne Hunters to the number one forty-two, hoping to find something, but we were at a loss. We couldn't find private information extensive enough to help us so we tried piecing up whatever we can. We came up with multiple theories but there was one that made the most sense to us: that there could've been a flood at one point and it washed the house away, and that perhaps Wayne was digging in his backyard because he was trying to hide or keep something safe from being washed away too—"

"But," Quinn joins in. "We couldn't understand why Wayne was trying to tell Sam all about this—unless they were both related somehow."

Aunt Penny cocks her head to one side. "I don't seem to remember anybody named Wayne Hunters in the family line."

"Me neither," I inform her. "But then I remembered a journal. I don't know why I did, but the image of it popped into my head—like I've seen it somewhere—and it stood out enough for me to pursue it. In the meantime, my team, Project Paranormal is working on a case investigating a site called the Camden House where a babysitter had experienced some paranormal occurrences. She called us in to help, and while we were there, things started happening out in the plantation instead of inside the house. We found a box, and inside it is an old photograph."

"Is that where your special abilities come in, Quinn?" Aunt Penny asks, fully invested in everything we're telling her. "The ability to tell the history of an item just by touching it."

Wow, do I have the coolest aunt, or what? I take back everything I've said about her terrible cooking. She was probably the cause of death to my poor dog, but she's doing an ace job at this sci-fi mambo-jumbo.

"I saw the flood," Quinn says, a slight regret in her voice. "And a woman named Roseanne Walters was in the house when it happened in 1962, and unfortunately, she drowned."

Aunt Penny gasps as she places a hand over her heart. "That's terrible. Do you have that piece of photograph with you? Can I have a look at it?"

Retrieving my cellphone from my back pocket, I scroll through my folders till I find what I'm looking for. I always keep evidences handy with me in case I need them at any given time. Tapping on the slightly fuzzy photograph, I enlarge it for my aunt to see.

"She's a doll, isn't she?"

"Does she look familiar to you in any way?"

She shakes her head and returns the phone back to me. "Not at all. I don't believe I've seen her anywhere."

"Okay, well, moving along," I continue, swiping the screen to the next image. "We've found this article that before the Camden House was built, it had originally been called the Roseanne House—"

"Named after Roseanne Walters," Aunt Penny clarifies.

"That's right. However, we manage to spot an inconsistency between the Camden House and the Roseanne House—that the Camden House wasn't built on the exact location that the Roseanne House had been. In fact, Roseanne House was approximately three hundred feet away from the Camden House—the same spot in which we've found the box and the photograph—which is a great coincidence and all, but what does that have to do with my dream?" I zoom in on the door in the picture and hand the phone back to my aunt. "Do you notice anything there?"

She squints her eyes for a moment before they widen to perfect circles. "The numbers one forty-two."

"Precisely. So, then, one of my guys, Mike, happened to secure Roseanne's morgue report—don't ask me how—and they've found a ring on her finger. However, there were no mentions of a husband—or children, for that matter—so we figured that perhaps the ring was a family heirloom."

"Do you know what the ring looks like? Is it in the pictures?"

"No, it isn't, and we don't know what it looks like, but you don't happen to have a family heirloom lying around in your house, do you?"

She grows quiet, deep in thought, and I take that moment to sneak a quick glimpse over at Quinn, checking in to ensure that she's okay, but she appears preoccupied and I wonder if she's reading Aunt Penny.

"The only ring I've ever seen is the wedding ring my late mother used to wear on her finger. It was simple, nothing fancy at all—a gold band—and that was it. My late father wasn't a rich man by any chance. He was an orphan growing up."

"He died at sea, didn't he?"

Her head snaps up as she fixes me with an inquisitive look. "How'd you know that?"

"The land, before the Camdens purchased it, belonged to a Violet Savior and her husband, Ralph. Those names, it felt like I've heard it somewhere, and before you say anything, I just want to let you know that I had flashes—snippets of images—in my head. I saw a flower; violet, and then I saw her. She was crying, and then there was a man. He was throwing her out of the house as a little girl watches on, and there was something so familiar about her eyes. At first, I thought it might've been mom. At that point of time, I didn't know about Candice—didn't know I had another aunt." I take a deep breath, rubbing the nape of my neck, straining a little with tension now that the story is delving into something deeper. "I never knew mom's last name, you know. She was always Mary Andrea to me, and you and Aunt Laura were married, so it wasn't like I cared enough to ask—"

"Well, that's nice to know," Aunt Penny deadpans.

I chuckle sheepishly. "But as we were making sense of all this, we still needed to find out the link between Roseanne Walters and Wayne Hunters. Remember the chest that you mentioned to me about, and that I borrowed a journal?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know if it was what I was looking for—but something was telling me to read it—to understand, and for a long time, we didn't find anything in the journal, just sappy poetry. As Mike was researching connections between Violet and Ralph Savior to Roseanne Walters and Wayne Hunters, Quinn and I tried to decipher hidden meanings—you know, if Roseanne was writing in girl code or something—"

At that, Aunt Penny lets out a laugh.

Rolling my eyes, I mutter, "don't even. Anyway, whatever it is, we realize that the link is the property—that perhaps grandma and grandpa had somehow lost the deeds to the house that once belonged to Roseanne Walters, which will then explain why our family was kicked out. So who is Wayne Hunters to Roseanne, and who are they to Violet and Ralph? That's when Quinn figures it out—that one line in the journal that explains how Violet is Roseanne and Wayne's illegitimate daughter."

"You're kidding," Aunt Penny cries out.

"Her exact words from the journal was, 'the Hunter, he awaits at my door that night, tearing as his maiden tell him the news. They are having a baby, a beautiful life created out of love, out of wedlock. Nobody can know,'" Quinn recites. "It makes perfect sense that Violet would end up living in that house because it once belonged to her mom and dad, but we had to be sure."

"So Quinn used her Psychic abilities, and we saw Wayne standing at the door as Roseanne wrote in her journal with a baby girl in his arms, so we quickly joined the dots. Our guess was that after the flood, Wayne must've rebuilt the house, calling it the Roseanne house after the woman he loved, and when Violet married Ralph, they took over the property. The only reason they would be evicted would be if they were either in some sort of debt with the government, or perhaps they were on the grounds illegally—or something happened to the deeds," I rationalize. "So we looked up on the Camdens and their history, but that is also when we knew about Candice."

"Before we get to that, I just want you to know that different entities had different ways of communicating with people," Quinn adds. "Candice happens to be one of them."

"I don't think I fully understand you."

"It's like this," I step in. "We have a client who's contacted us about a haunting. She believes that her house back home is haunted, and for the record, we always give our clients the benefit of the doubt. However, simultaneously, there's a separate kind of haunting happening to her as well, and that's Candice."

Aunt Penny lifts an eyebrow, skeptical by my claims. "Candice is haunting one of your clients?"

"Like Quinn has said, different entities communicate differently, and in this case, Candice has used my client as a way to catch our attention. It could be because our client has a certain quality of openness that attracts Candice to her, but in any case, while we were investigating, Quinn happened to notice Candice as the girl that she's seen following her around sometimes. Because of her Psychic abilities, she just dismissed it as one of those occurrences, until one day, I sent her in to screen the client."

"And by screen, you mean to make sure she's not harboring bad energy?"

"Exactly," I nod again. "The safety of my team comes first, and I need to make sure that my client isn't involved in witchcraft or devil worshipping, or shit—sorry, stuff—like that."

"And Quinn, you can sense these things?"

"Not exactly in the way you think, but yeah, I suppose you can say that."

"So, when did you find out that Candice was your aunt, Sam?"

"When Candice told Quinn, basically," I disclose. "That flash of the little girl wasn't mom at all—it was Candice—and she told Quinn of how she got sick really young—"

"Did she know that she was dead?" Aunt Penny interrupts, an urgency brewing in her words.

"Yes, she did, but she couldn't tell us much. She didn't even know the person who's kicked the family out of the house, though she did remember you, Aunt Penny."

"What did she say?"

"She remembered playing with you, your fairy tales and your songs," Quinn replies.

"Candice was our connection to you, Aunt Penny," I say. "And you're the connection I need to tie me back to Wayne Hunters—that man in my dreams. Now, let's go back to the Camdens, shall we? Rick Camden is the recent owner of the house. His parents, Bill and Martha, took over the property around the same period of time you were kicked out. With more research, we've found out that he was a property businessman—owning plots of land from all over the country. An article we've found mentioned that he had stumbled across a land illegally inhibited by immigrants from the south, which we all know, is a bunch of crap because the Saviors lived there. To the government, though, the land didn't belong to anybody. Due to the lack of proper documentation, the Saviors had no choice but to evict the property."

"I—I wasn't aware of any of this," Aunt Penny murmurs.

"You wouldn't have, and for all it's worth, I don't think Grandma Violet did too."

"So how did Bill Camden come to find out about this? Why was he targeting us?"

I blow a puff of air. "That's a really good question, Aunt Penny, and we're just getting to that. After delving in deeper into our research, we've found that The Walters owned a cotton mill empire where Roseanne's dad, Sid, was possibly the most influential person there is. Back then, power was everything, and it everybody wanted to marry into the family. However, with Roseanne being the only child, competition was fierce amongst the eligible bachelors. On the other hand, we have John Camden, the eldest son to Michael Camden, who was a rich merchant from Britain who had arrived in the States to settle trading deals."

"He wanted a merger with Sid Walters?" Aunt Penny takes a guess. "But at that time, Roseanne was in love with Wayne Hunters—probably she was already pregnant with his child—and rejected John Camden's proposal?"

"John could've figured out about the affair and threatened Roseanne, so she possibly fled, or was disowned by her family," I offer my own opinions. "Now, let's fast-forward a generation to Bill Camden. I have a feeling that he had acted under revenge to Roseanne. Looking at this from his point of view, your dad and your family's honor were tarnished—people probably speculated a lot of things when Roseanne had rejected him—and he obviously waited for the perfect timing to strike. He was a property businessman, after all."

"All that trouble over an affair?"

"That's our theory."

"I don't know what to say, Sam. Is there anything you need help with?"

"I still can't figure out what Wayne Hunters was trying to tell me in my dream," I sigh, swiping my palm over my face. "You don't happen to see the deeds to a house lying around, do you?"

"If your grandma didn't have it with her, there's no way I would. I'm sorry, Sam." Looking helpless, she glances down at the tattered doll still clutched in her hands. "We didn't have growing up, and because we're always travelling so much, mom didn't have that many possessions."

"Whose things are in the chest?" I ask.

Aunt Penny tilts her head in question. "What did you find in there?"

"There were story books and some knitting tools."

"They probably belonged to your grandmother, then, though she probably already had it with her long before the four of us were born. I remembered how she would read to us at night and knit us sweaters during winter."

"Do you reckon those things could've been passed down to her from Roseanne."

"I would think so because she had those for a very long time. Out of all of us, your mom was the only one who was able to pick up knitting. She had talented hands, that Mary, and I don't doubt that she probably still has her old set of sticks somewhere," Aunt Penny grins in reminiscence. "Almost poked your Aunt Laura's eyes out once trying to learn it."

"Did grandma keep a journal with her? Did she write?"

"She loves to read, though. I've never seen her write, and I don't think she kept a journal."

"Oh."

"She did, however, love to leave little notes and scribbles on pages," Aunt Penny says. "She'll do markings, or bookmark the stuff she likes."

"Does she have a favorite book, then?"

"Little Women," Quinn whispers.

Aunt Penny stares at her in surprise. "That's right."

"How'd you know that?" I wonder out loud.

"I felt something when I touched it earlier on. I didn't think much of it at first but it makes sense to me now. I think—"

I don't even wait for her to finish before I'm sprinting back up to the attic. Almost stumbling on the last two steps, I make a mad dash for the chest. I dig through the pile of books until my fingers graze over the one I'm looking for.

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott.

I've never read it in my life before—never really had to—because seriously, the title says it all, and due to my dyslexia, reading has just always been a bitch to me. Heading back down to the living room, I hold the old paperback copy up.

"Is this it?"

Quinn nods in affirmation and takes it from my hold. She starts flipping through the book where, true enough, notes and citations had been made on corners of every page. Now and then, there are small scraps of paper wedged between the gutters.

"Grandma loves to draw?" I remark, studying a realistic pencil sketch of a tulip, and then another one of a rose.

"Not that I know of," Aunt Penny murmurs.

And then, a piece of card falls onto Quinn's lap. She picks it up and flips it over.

"Sam? I think you need to take a look at this."

* * *

><p><strong>Thursday, 7.10pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?" I demand into the phone. "I fucking called, like, ten times and you didn't pick up."

Sam snickers from the other end of the line. "The last time I checked, Quinn was still my girlfriend, but what can I do for you, Mike?"

I suppose his tone detection is a little flawed today or he would've already noticed my less-than-amused demeanor. "Where are you? And is Quinn with you?"

"Yeah, she is," he answers. "We're on the way back to campus right now from my Aunt Penny's house. Why? Is everything okay?"

Clearing my throat, I pan my attention back to Rachel and Finn, both of whom are sitting in front of me with matching anticipating expressions. The pointed glare I send their way does nothing to waver their otherwise concealed smugness, so instead, I settle for a quick roll of my eyes. Why do I feel like I'm babysitting two preschoolers?

"Rachel and Finn are in on this," I begrudgingly break the news to him, inwardly cringing at the crappy task. "They know, and they have a theory on the deeds."

The silence that follows makes me wonder if he's hung up on me. "Hello? Sam?"

"Damn, does Rachel not know the meaning on 'minding her own business'?" he comments sarcastically, enough for me to know that he's not the least bit pleased with the outcome.

"Do pigs fly?" I retort flatly.

"Fine, fine," he grumbles. "Where are you?"

"At Breadstix."

"Of all places?"

Seriously, dude? "I was outnumbered."

There's a resigned sigh that comes after, and I'm sure he's dreading this as much as I am. "I'll see you in ten."

Finn starts digging into his plate of ketchup-smothered French fries—presumably satisfied with his involvement—and Rachel looks like she's itching to say something, so I decide to save her the trouble of asking me.

"Don't even," I tell her warningly. "Whatever you have to say, you can wait till Sam gets here."

"I just want to apologize to you, Mike," she says anyway because nothing ever stops her. "I know that I've overstepped a line when I looked into your laptop without your consent and I have to admit that I probably wasn't thinking rationally—especially about our friendship." Her hands reach out to play with the corners of a serviette on the table. "We're a team, and we work together all the time, and we're supposed to trust each other but somehow or another, I've failed even in the most basic aspect. I'm a terrible friend. I allowed my curiosity and suspicions get the better of me, but I was afraid of being left out."

"Left out? Rachel, you don't—"

"No, I get it," she interrupts. "You don't have to pacify me. I get that when Quinn joined the group, that the dynamics were going to change; I get that. I just don't want to feel that I'm not a worthy part of the group anymore. I mean, you and Sam used to come to me for everything, and now—"

"Look—"

"Please let me finish, Mike."

I nod wordlessly, granting her the opportunity to state her peace.

"I know how I feel doesn't fully justify my actions, and that I'm still guilty of betraying your trust. For that, I'm really sorry, and I've learned my lesson. I promise you that I'll never ever do anything that will hurt our friendship again. I just hope you can find it in you to forgive me."

Rachel Berry is never one for apologizing or admitting her mistakes on a regular basis, so I know that when she does, she's usually sincere about it. As furious as I still am with her, I'm not that kind of person to keep so much angst to myself—it's exhausting—and I believe that people make mistakes. At least Rachel is honest enough to admit hers and is trying to make amends for it. That much I can give her credit for.

"I'm not saying that I forgive you completely, Rachel—"

"Of course," she blurts out.

"But I appreciate it, and I accept your apology."

Before she can decide to dive across the table to choke me in a hug like I fear she's going to do, a car pulls up by the curb, and Sam and Quinn step out wearing matching facial expressions. They look tired, as though they've just finished running a marathon and this meeting is just the final leg of the race.

"Hey, guys," Sam greets apprehensively, all the while keeping his gaze fixed on me, silently asking if everything is under control. He motions for Quinn to take a seat to my right and then lowers himself next to her so that he's on the vulnerable side since there's damage control to be done. "Ease up on the ketchup there, Finn, alright?"

The taller guy glowers at him and slows down on his food intake but otherwise doesn't say anything other than offer a small grunt in response. God, Finn is such a pig—literally.

"Let's just get down to it, okay?" Rachel hops in, sounding a little flustered. "I know everything—well, almost everything—and I'm willing to share my theory—and I have to admit, it's a good one—if you agree to tell me what's really going on."

Sam raises his eyebrows; clearly not amused that she's kind of blackmailing him into this, but then he turns to Quinn. "You want to take it from here?"

"Okay, well—"

"Wait, what?" Rachel spits out when she figures out what Sam is trying to do, her voice reaching a higher octave. "Seriously? This is cheating. My brain is not available for you to access to at your willy-nilly. I'm your teammate, damn it, and I'm sorry, but I'm also your friend. I demand to know what's going on here."

What happened to the apology five minutes ago?

"Rachel—"

"No, Sam," she snaps. "I'm sick and tired of being left out time and again. I want in on this, and I'm not going to stop bugging you until I get what I want."

My team leader sighs in defeat—or perhaps just tired of arguing with Rachel—and reluctantly begins regurgitating the entire story from the start, and it's obvious that he doesn't want to do it. He might as well be reciting Shakespeare with all the monotony. Surprisingly, throughout the entire explanation, Rachel hasn't interrupted him once and for a change quietly listens to every word, and when Sam is finally done with the essentials, she sits for a moment to digest the new information. I take that moment to look at Finn, wondering what's actually going through his mind because the poor dude seems absolutely lost in the situation.

"Do you guys have any questions?" Sam asks them tentatively.

It takes half a minute for them to recover, but eventually, Finn breaks the silence. "So, what happens now?"

"Now you fulfill your half of the deal," Sam replies with a simple shrug. "What's your theory on the deeds?"

Rachel clears her throat and straightens her back to regain some unnecessary semblance of professional composure. "After listening to your story, Sam, I'm now more than certain that the deeds are indeed not missing. I think someone hid it—could be the Camdens, Roseanne Walters, or perhaps even Wayne Hunters."

"Why would anybody hide it?" I mull over. "Wouldn't it be easier for everybody if the deeds were found?"

"Unless someone was planning on destroying it," Rachel points out. "Think about it, guys: Roseanne and Wayne's love affair are at risk of exposure, and John Camden, he's aware of this; probably even threatened to let the secret out when she rejected him. A jealous man is a bitter man, and at the moment, John seems like the perfect suspect for harboring bad intentions. You've mentioned before, Sam, that a merger between the Camdens and the Walters would make John's family part of an empire. Roseanne's rejection definitely wasn't good news at all."

"So, you're saying that, as a revenge, John hid the deeds to the land that probably belonged to either Roseanne or Wayne?" Finn muses.

"On the contrary, Finn," Rachel says as she produces a binder from her lap. "I think Wayne Hunters hid it."

I blink in confusion. "But that doesn't make sense. Why would he hide his own deeds and not tell anybody?"

"He did tell somebody," Rachel counters, fixing her eyes over at my team leader. "You mentioned that he was digging in a backyard?"

"Yeah," Sam replies with a nod of his head. "So, you think that he was trying to tell me that he buried the deeds—or buried something—at the back of the house and wants me to go find it?"

"But why would he bury the deeds in the first place?" Finn interjects.

"Because he knew that John was after him and his property. You drive a family out of their property, they have nothing left, and he probably thought that Roseanne would have no choice but to go back home to her family and marry him instead."

"Son of a bitch," I mutter under my breath.

"But of course, after that, John found out that Roseanne was pregnant," Rachel continues. "And he knew that it was probably the end for him. He probably left with a threat or a warning—something that worried Wayne enough to hide one of his greatest assets—and wasn't able to tell Violet before he passed on."

"Until now," Sam finishes off.

"We have something else to show you guys," Quinn speaks up, pulling out a tattered old book. Between some pages, she fishes out a piece of paper.

"It's a ring?" Finn deadpans.

"Hey, Mike, do you remember the morgue report you've managed to secure?"

"Yeah…" I trail off, but then it clicks. "You think that's the ring?"

"Does this mean that Violet had it with her?" Rachel asks.

"She did," Sam confirms.

I glance curiously at him. "So where is it now?"

"With my mom."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hi guys! Alright, so I think I've just managed to wrap up a summary of the case in this chapter so far, so it acts as a refresher. I know that it's going to get messy here with a lot more people involved in the mystery, so before things get even more complicated, I packaged the story up a bit. Now that Sam's mom has a piece of the mystery, things will get a bit more interesting as this story closes.

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad that you loved the part with Sam and Quinn. They are always a pleasure to write. There aren't any steamy Fabrevans scenes in this chapter, though, but I hope you've enjoyed it anyway :D

**OhHeyAl:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing my story! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Rachel and Finn interaction! They both play off each other so well and I thoroughly enjoy writing their scenes :D It's great to know that you liked the steamy scene between Sam and Quinn! That bit totally wrote itself in one shot. Also, happy to know that you've enjoyed how the mystery is playing out, especially since I feel like there's so much going on. I was watching the episode the other day where Mike stood up to Karofsky, and it inspired me to write that part :D Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Dosqueen67:** Hi! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Your comments totally made my day, especially since it's so beautifully written! Well, I hope I've managed to make part of your wishes come true regarding Rachel and helping out with the case. I know at times I make it sound like I totally loathe Rachel, but really, I don't. Her overbearing nature is what led her to helping out with the case even though nobody asked for her help, so really, the gang should be thankful to her stubborn ways :D I'm glad you liked the Fabrevans scene! That bit sort of wrote itself, and don't worry, there will be more of those to come! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you, as always, for reading and reviewing, and leaving wonderful comments to brighten up my day! You were right, though, Rachel is in fact lending a rather resourceful hand to the mystery, and it's really due to the fact that she's so overbearing and nosy all the time! She picked out on something crucial that the rest of them overlooked, so ten points for Rachel! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the Fabrevans scene! There's nothing steamy in this chapter, but I hope you've enjoyed it anyways! Cheers!

**Kera:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I'm glad you liked the steamy scene between Sam and Quinn! That was so much fun to write :P I agree with you on Rachel, and how despite being such a pain, she's actually helping them with the mystery. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments! I really appreciate it! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter even though there aren't any steamy Fabrevans scenes!


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: **R.I.P Cory Monteith. You will be missed.

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 43**

**Friday, 2.40pm**

**/Mike Chang**

I hate road trips; I'm not going to lie about it.

I hate it even more when I have to constrain myself to the backseat listening as Rachel yaps my ears off about anything and everything. She's gone from commenting on the cloudless sky to storm clouds and how altitudes play a part in something I don't give a damn about, and she just won't shut up. Quinn is riding up front with Sam, of course, and seriously, I don't know how they do it. Ignoring Rachel Berry is an attained skill, unfortunately, and one that I'm itching to hone as soon as possible.

"And you know exactly how I feel about overcooked fries, so obviously I was a little insulted that they would have the nerve to serve such substandard food in such a well-known establishment—"

"I just have one question, though," I cut in, already at my breaking point.

She blinks, stunned that I'm interrupting her incessant complains with meals in the school's dining hall. "Sure, go ahead."

"For the love of God, can you please keep quiet for five minutes? I'm one remark away from opening the door and jumping out of this car just to get away from you."

I hear Sam and Quinn chuckling simultaneously as Rachel's cheeks flame up in embarrassment. She huffs in reply, sticking her nose up in the air.

"Even though I'm Jewish, I would rather you not throw your Lord's name around in vain."

"Rachel!" I snap through gritted teeth, and I know that I must have this crazed look in my eyes because she quickly gets the message after that.

After making a motion of zipping her lips and then throwing out the key, she sinks down in the seat and folds her arms across her chest with an exaggerated pout that leaves me rolling my eyes. She is such a drama queen sometimes; it's exhausting. A quick glimpse at the dashboard tells me that we still have a good four more hours on the road.

Swell.

Let's just hope Rachel has the ability to contain herself till we get there. Honestly, I have no idea why she's insisted on tagging along. It's thoroughly unnecessary.

At least with the resident chatterbox on mute, I can finally attain enough concentration to finish up on my assignment. Firing up my laptop, I begin typing, finally able to appreciate the soft country music playing on the stereo.

"I need to use the rest room."

I expel a frustrated sigh. "Really, Rachel?"

"I'm sorry, I have no idea that answering nature's call is a crime against human beings," she retorts sassily.

"And there they go," Sam comments, and from my peripheral, I notice the couple exchange amused glances.

"We stopped at a gas station before leaving, and I specifically remember you mentioning—rather crudely I must say—how you have a bladder made of steel, the size of a camel's hump. And might I add that—in case it's not obvious to you—we're on a freeway. Unless you'd want to pee in some bushes, the next pit stop is an hour and a half away."

Rachel shoots me the dirtiest look for that. "You're an asshole, Mike Chang."

"And you're an irritating pest, so why don't we call it a truce?"

"I resent that—"

"Alright, break it up, you two," Sam calls out, clearly tired of our crap. "One more argument and I'll drop the both of you right here on the interstate, I swear. Seriously, guys, okay? Just let me enjoy Willie Nelson for a bit."

I'm perfectly fine with that as I resume working on my paper.

"I really need to use the rest room, though."

"Damn it, Rachel."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 7.15pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

It's a miracle we all made it alive.

Between Mike and Rachel's endless bickering over every little thing and my stomach growling every few minutes, I was under the impression that one of us would end up in jail—presumably me—for first-degree murder. My only consolation is having Quinn by my side, rubbing the stress away each time I unconsciously start gripping the steering wheel a little too hard.

Familiar landmarks ignite fond memories that have been temporarily stowed away—the playground where I'd fallen off a swing and broke my wrist when I was seven, my favorite ice cream shop, the house where an old lady lives with her ten cats and a black dog, the street where I'd first learned to ride a bike—and I know that my Psychic girlfriend sees it too because she has this knowing smile on her gorgeous face.

"You were quite the kid, huh?" she teases.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say with all the innocence I can muster, though the twitch at the corner of my lips is a giveaway.

"Messing up your neighbor's flower bed and blaming the dog isn't going to get you the Exemplary Child Award, you know."

"You weren't meant to see that," I inform her sheepishly.

"Then you shouldn't have thought about it so exuberantly. I could be in space and I still would've gotten that image."

Cheekily, I stick my tongue out at her.

"This is a really nice neighborhood, Sam," Rachel comments from the backseat.

"It's okay," I shrug my shoulders, making a left turn at a junction.

"That's the one?" Quinn asks, nodding towards the house at the end of the street. "Your house?"

"Lucky guess?"

"Maybe."

I pull up in the driveway behind mom's SUV and I notice dad's pick-up parked next to it, so I know that they're both home. Mom was pretty excited when I called her up last night. It's been a while since I've returned home, anyway, and I suppose I shouldn't have been shocked when she asked if Quinn would be coming with. Aunt Penny isn't exactly the best at keeping secrets.

"You nervous?"

She turns to me, her eyes twinkling. "Are you?"

"Not really. You know my mom's going to fawn all over you, right?"

"I think I have a rough idea."

As if on cue, mom theatrically bursts out of the front door with a flourish of a stage actress and sort of skips down the walkway with dad trailing behind, seemingly entertained by her comical antics.

"Samuel!"

She envelops me in a bear hug even before I'm fully out of the vehicle and almost crushes my lungs in the process.

"Need to breathe, mom."

Reluctantly, she releases her hold, and just as I walk over to give dad a hug, she's squealing my girlfriend's name.

"She's going to smother her, isn't she?" I murmur just for my dad to hear.

He laughs. "You'll have to drag Quinn in a body bag by the time she's done."

"Alright, mom, you can let go of her now. That's Mike, and that's Rachel over there. She loves receiving hugs, so please go suffocate her instead." Taking Quinn's hand, she shoots me a grateful smile as I guide her over to meet my other parental unit. "Quinn, this is my dad, Dwight Evans. Dad, this is my girlfriend, Quinn Fabray."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Evans," she grins, accepting his handshake.

"Just call me Dwight."

"Great, formalities done; can we please eat, now? I'm starving."

Mom ushers us into the dining room where she already has a spread waiting. Beef lasagna, garden salad, mashed potatoes, scones, fish fingers and a lemon meringue pie; I'm salivating just by looking at the food.

"You're drooling," Quinn snickers, gently nudging my side.

"Maybe you shouldn't look so delicious, then."

"Cute."

I pull a chair out, gesturing for her to take a seat, and for a fleeting second, her soft lips brush against the side of my cheek before she lowers herself down to eat. Thankfully, mom doesn't embarrass me too much, and Rachel and Mike are behaving. Now and then, I'll reach down for Quinn's hand and intertwine our fingers together, and I realize that I can get used to this.

Bellies full and dinner out of the way without a scratch, we settle into the living room to finish off our dessert.

Mom is the first to break the silence.

"So what is this about? I'm sure you didn't drive all the way here just for my lasagna."

Eyes zoom in on me, and I suppose Rachel and Mike are silently wondering if I'd recount the entire story to my parents. Clearing my throat, I set my plate down on the floor, trying to pick a suitable milestone in the timeline to begin.

"Mom, do you still have that kind of ugly-looking ring I used to sort of hate when I was younger?" I question sheepishly.

She pointedly arches an eyebrow at my description. "Ugly-looking ring?"

"The one grandma Violet passed down to you."

Mom looks taken aback. "How did you know about that?"

"It's a really, really long story, but do you still have it with you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Could you fetch it for me, please?"

"Of course, honey."

She leaves, then, and dad turns to me with a solemn expression.

"Are you in some sort of trouble, son?"

I reel back slightly. "What? No, of course not."

"Because if you need money, you can just tell me. Even though you don't like that ring, that's no reason to pawn it."

My teammates burst out in cackles.

"Dad," I deadpan.

He raises his hands in surrender, still trying to keep a straight face. "Just saying."

Mom returns soon after, with a small black box in her palm. However, just as I'm about to make a grab for it, she retracts her hand with a chastising look.

"Be careful with it," she warns.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I sprout out a quick promise not to lose it before carefully plucking the jewelry out of the holder. The metal is cool on my fingertips and it has lost its shine over the years, now dull and completely unattractive. A faded green stone rests at the top, and it doesn't come across as anything special at all.

"It looks exactly like the one in the sketch," Rachel gasps.

"What now?" Mike asks.

My eyes snap up to meet my girlfriend's hazel ones.

"Quinn, it's all yours."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 9.50pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

Clairsentience.

I've read all about it, and I have to admit that I'm rather skeptical about how this is all going to play out. I mean, I know I've come quite a way from when Quinn first joined us, but I still value hard evidence and scientific logic above all, and I'm not certain that I'll be getting any of it. Still, despite going against my principle, I choose not to make a scene in Sam's house. Besides, I'm sure my opinions aren't exactly warranted in this aspect.

I watch as Sam drops the ring onto Quinn's open palm and her fingers curl around it.

She blinks, and then a myriad of emotions flutter across her features.

"Erm…Sam?" she whispers. "I think you should see this."

"What is it? What did you see?"

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Quinn narrows her eyes and squints hard at nothing in particular. "I can't make it out; it's kind of dark—there are shadows and silhouettes but I can't—Sam, I need you."

His eyes dart around the room in slight panic. "How should I—Quinn, I don't think I can—"

I frown at his words, turning to face Mike as we exchange confused glances.

"What's going on?" Mary Evans asks, looking worriedly over at her son and his girlfriend. "Samuel—"

He seems torn about his decision, but then shoots his mom an apologetic grimace. "I'll explain later, I promise," he says, and before any of us can question his vagueness, he leans over and kisses Quinn right on the lips.

"Whoa," Mike remarks. "Okay, that's unexpected—"

"Samuel Evans!" his mom gasps, appalled by the blatant public display of affection happening right in her living room, and I don't blame her. His dad just looks on with a half-amused and half-disturbed expression, and this is getting really awkward for all of us.

"No tongue, please," I deadpan; averting my attention to the beautiful painting of a fruit basked on the wall.

They pull apart eventually, both panting and out of breath.

"Did you see that?"

Quinn simply nods her head, too stunned to speak.

For about a full minute, they stay locked in a stare while the rest of us wait patiently— just observing—for an explanation.

"Alright, what's going on, Sam?" Mary demands, finally breaking the silence; her tone stern and clearly displeased.

He coughs and clears his throat. "Erm…"

"Wayne Hunters," Quinn grates out.

Mike sits up straighter on the couch. "What?"

"We saw Wayne Hunters."

* * *

><p><strong>Friday, 10.25pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

There's a moment of stark silence.

Quinn inhales a lungful of air; her cheeks flushed crimson.

"It was back to the dream," she murmurs, her hazel eyes glazed over. "That first time Sam saw him—his eyes—he was digging, and then he's burying something—that same box we found at the Camden House, but different…"

"We need to find that box," Sam finishes determinedly.

It takes me a while to piece the information together.

"What do you think is in the box?" I ask.

He turns to me with a burning determination. "The last piece of the puzzle."

Holy shit.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," he replies confidently, though his triumph is short-lived by his mom.

"Can somebody please tell me what on earth is going on here?"

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 1.10am<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

For the third time, I'm reiterating the entire story, and for the most part, mom actually looked a little freaked out at the idea. I guess Aunt Penny didn't really prep her for this, but dad remains calm and I think he's rather intrigued with the whole idea.

"And now here we are," I conclude, relieved that I've managed to get that off my chest.

"So you're going to trespass on someone's property to dig around in their backyard for a box?" mom wonders out loud, arching an eyebrow incredulously.

"When you put it that way—"

"Samuel Evans, I did not raise you to—"

"What your mom is trying to say, son," dad intervenes, composed as always, though his voice is laced with a hint of mirth. "Is that you need a solid plan."

I try not to grin too wide when mom whacks his arm and glares pointedly at him.

"Sugar!" Rachel blurts out all of a sudden.

Mom glances at her in that incredulous way. "At this time of the night, Rachel? Really?"

"No, Sugar Motta," the petite brunette exclaims. "The babysitter! She can help us."

Mike gives her an unconvinced look. "How?"

She rolls her eyes. "We'll just tell her that we need to investigate the property again, of course. Keep up, Chang."

"And what will we tell her when she discovers holes everywhere on the premise?" he retorts.

Good point.

Rachel shrugs her shoulders, her lips turned up in a mischievous smirk. "Gophers."

"Technically, you kids won't have to dig the entire plantation," my dad chuckles. "You've already identified roughly where the old Roseanne House used to be. That should already narrow down the area of your search."

"But that's still a lot of ground to cover," I tell him. "We'll probably need a bulldozer."

"I think I have something that might help," dad says, and then he stands up and heads out the back door towards the garage.

"Should we—"

"Yeah, we should," mom agrees, scrambling to her feet.

Dad is digging around his old gadgets when we arrive as though he's scavenging for treasure.

"Do you know what he's up to?" I quietly ask my mom.

"I have no idea."

Quinn giggles then. "It's a good one, trust me."

"How'd you—"

"Here it is!" dad announces, pulling out a long device that looks akin to a crutch. "My metal detector. And you said that it was useless."

Mom huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "Seriously, Dwight."

I take the dusty equipment from his hands.

"It's perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, so this chapter is rather short, but I wanted to keep it light-hearted because the previous chapter was sort of intense. LOL! I love the bickering between Mike and Rachel—they can't stand each other, it's hilarious! Anyway, they're now one more step closer to solving the mystery! Not long now :D

**Mandorac:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! As always, I really appreciate your comments! I'm glad you like the twists and turns! I've managed to straighten it out now, so it shouldn't be so complicated from here on. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Hehe! I'm glad you liked Aunt Penny! She's really cool! Well, Rachel got a bit defensive when Quinn wanted to tell the story because Sam was actually asking Quinn to read her mind, which she thinks is an invasion to her privacy. :D I hope I've cleared that up for you! Cheers!

**Whiskytango:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! I hope you've recovered from that brain explosion :D Wouldn't want you dead now, do we? This is an easy chapter—nothing too intense—so hopefully you've enjoyed it!

**Kera:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you found the story interesting even though you had to read it twice to understand :D I know that it's all a little much to comprehend in one chapter. I'm also happy that you liked how Rachel is involved because she is a rather valuable asset to the team :D

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, and you're welcome! LOL! Recapping the whole mystery was good for me too because I needed to make sure that I haven't left anything out. I'm glad you like the supernatural aspect of this story! It's really different from my other stories because I get to delve into something entirely different :D Cheers!

**Nicole:** Hi! Thank you so much for stopping by and leaving a review! I am actually going back and forth with THA. Chapter 10 is halfway written but I wanted to concentrate more in WIME because it's almost reaching to the end. After WIME, I will be able to fully concentrate on THA, and it'll be updated more regularly, I promise!

**Guest (1):** Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Much appreciated!

**Guest (2):** Thank you for reviewing the previous chapter! Glad that you liked the story so far!

**Guest (3):** Thank you for reading the reviewing! I hope this update isn't too late!


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: **The big 44 is here! I haven't had the time to proof-read it, so any grammatical errors are my own. Apologies beforehand.

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 44**

**Saturday, 3.25am**

**/Sam Evans**

I'm staring out into the pitch-black abyss.

There's nothing up ahead—nothing that I can see—but I know I'm falling.

The dream; it's back.

I gulp in a huge mouthful of air, bracing myself for what's to come. It shouldn't rattle me anymore, but it does, and I'm dreading what's coming next. The huge ball of light rolls in—a sphere of fire—and in mere seconds, it disappears, and then I'm plunged back into the darkness. I'm being swept away by rushing waters before resurfacing with a gasp, arms flailing to stay afloat.

He's standing there—Wayne Hunters—motionless in the shadows.

His eyes; they pierce through me with a startling intensity that leaves a chill running down my spine.

I blink.

And the scene changes.

He's digging a hole—a shovel in his hands, a box sitting by his feet—and when it's deep enough, he drops the item in and starts piling soil back on to bury it.

Then, he disappears.

"Sam?"

Someone calls out softly to me, a female voice that sounds so familiar to my ears, yet I can't put a finger on it.

"Sam."

I feel a hand—dainty, smooth and warm—on my shoulder, jolting me awake. It takes a moment for my vision to adjust, but then I'm greeted with Quinn's beautiful face barely inches from mine. A smile makes its way to my lips, until I realize that she's looking down at me with worry in her gorgeous hazel eyes. Her forehead is creased with distress and she has her blonde hair up in a messy bun.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I croak out.

"I—uh—I felt you," she whispers because Mike is sleeping a few feet away. "You were unconsciously projecting images into my head, and you seem—I had to come see if you are okay."

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I haul myself up to a sitting position. "Damn, I'm sorry, Q."

"It's fine," she assures me with a soft smile as she pushes some of my hair out of my forehead. "I'm sorry the dream returned."

"Yeah, that's biting me in the ass right now, but I think we may have triggered it earlier on or something like that," I shrug my shoulders, trying to stifle a yawn.

"You think you'll be able to go back to sleep?"

"Maybe," I murmur, reaching out to pull her into my arms. Her body is pliant against mine and I can't resist dropping a kiss to the exposed skin on her neck. "Will you keep me company?"

She considers it for a second, sucking in a sharp breath when I dart my tongue out to trace the outer contour of her ear. "You know I'd love to, but Mike's in here, not to mention your parents are just down the hall, and I don't think—"

"I do have a basement, you know," I remind her suggestively.

"But it just—it doesn't feel right doing it in your house," she weakly protests even as she leans into me.

"Shall we do it in the car, then?"

"Seriously, Sam?" she hisses.

"What?"

"Okay, no," she decides, wriggling out of my grip. "Go back to sleep. I should get back to my room before Rachel realizes I'm gone."

"Are you kidding me?" I groan. "That girl sleeps like a rock."

She gets to her feet with a roll of her eyes. "Yeah, but apparently she mumbles the periodic table and uses the bathroom at random intervals of the night. She should really get herself checked for bladder issues."

"You're such a tease," I mumble, flopping back down on the mattress.

"Hey, one of us has to be the responsible, hormonally-balanced adult in our relationship," she retorts playfully, planting one hand on her hip. "Behave for me and control your carnal urges tonight, and maybe I'll reward you for it."

Shit.

I can already feel the stirrings down south at all the things I'm thinking of doing to her, and I reckon it's going to be a fucking long and painful night for my little soldier. How can she just stand there nonchalantly after knowing what she does to my person? It's like my own personal sexual hazard; she ought to come with a warning label to match everything else about her that drives me crazy. Even dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a thin cotton tank top, she looks delicious enough to ravage.

"Get your head out of the gutter, Sam. I'm still right here."

"It was intentional."

She smirks and heads for the door.

"Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Quinn."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 9.40am<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"Oh, my God, Mrs. Evans, this is delicious." I moan out loud after taking the first bite of blueberry pancakes. "I can't remember the last time I had home-made pancakes."

"What are you talking about?" Sam says, arching an eyebrow. "You crash breakfast all the time when Blaine cooks."

I point my fork at him. "It's not the same."

Rachel bounds into the dining table, a wide grin on her face, clearly pleased with herself for whatever reason. "Good morning, everybody," she chirps giddily.

"Good morning, Rachel," Mrs. Evans greets her with a warm smile, setting a glass and plate down for the brunette. "Have a seat and help yourself to some breakfast."

"Thank you, Mrs. Evans," she burbles, taking a seat to my right before pouring a cup of orange juice for herself. "Lovely day, isn't it, Mike?"

I almost choke on my food, coughing as I try to clear my windpipe. Mr. Evans gives me a good hard thump on the back as I wash the bits of pancake down with my drink.

"You okay, there, Mike?" Quinn asks, her voice laced with amusement.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," I blurt out in reply. "Are you high right now, Rachel?"

Instead of glaring back at me like I'm expecting her to, she just flashes me a pleasant smile that, for all instances, actually looks rather creepy and a tad bit disturbing. "Well, since you've mention it," she pauses for dramatic effect. "I have some great news."

"You're relocating to Mars?"

This time, she shoots me her dirtiest look. "Do you have a problem with me, Mike Chang?"

"Okay, guys, stop," Sam intervenes once again. "That's enough. Find a center and move on."

Dude, did he just quote Artie Abrams?

"Now, what's the good news, Rachel?" he asks.

She sets her cutlery down and interlinks her fingers together, straightening her spine in that uncanny way she does when she's eager to present something. "Well, after talking about the plan last night, I decide to take some initiative with the case. I called Sugar earlier and informed her that we have something important to discuss regarding the Camden House. She has agreed to meet us this evening at Breadstix."

You know what nobody likes?

Nobody likes a show-off.

Fine, I'm impressed, and I'll give her credit where it's due because she does make one heck of a teammate. She just needs to learn to shut up once in a while.

"That's awesome, Rachel, thanks," Sam tells her, nodding in appreciation. "I suppose after we're done here, we'll have a long drive back to campus."

"Do you need me to take over the wheel?" Rachel offers eagerly.

Yeah, right, like that's going to happen.

"It's okay, Rach," he politely declines. "But nobody touches my baby but me."

Quinn whacks the back of his head. "That's not very nice," she frowns.

"But I didn't—"

"Do you honestly want the whole table—your parents included—to know exactly what you were just thinking of?" she narrows her eyes dangerously at him.

He instantly flushes a deep shade of crimson. "No."

There's a round of snickering from everybody, and we resume with breakfast.

Until something occurs to me.

"Do you think we should let Tina and Artie know? I mean, we have an Empath who will no doubt pick up on the slightest change in mood, and Tina's pretty observant even though she's sort of like a fly on the wall. Sooner or later, they're both going to be suspicious of our whereabouts," I say. "I mean, I know we told them that we're heading to Warhorn U this weekend to assist their paranormal team, but what are we going to tell them when we have to return to the Camden House to dig around?"

The table goes silent, save for the rustling of the newspaper that Sam's dad is reading.

"Good point."

"What's wrong with telling them?" Mrs. Evans wonders out loud.

"Well, initially, Quinn and I didn't want too many people involved because it was sort of personal to me," Sam explains. "But eventually, it just grew a little too big for just the two of us to handle. Mike sort of stumbled upon the case by accident, and Rachel pulled Finn in, and then it just…"

"Happened," Quinn finishes for him.

"We might as well just let it out, Sam. They might be of help," Rachel rationalizes. "I mean, Tina is great with paperwork and documentation, I'm sure she'll be able to pitch in regarding the deeds. Artie is so tech-savvy, he might have gadgets or widgets that can help us in locating the box."

Sam heaves a sigh and silently ponders on.

"Alright, we'll tell them."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 4.15pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

I just received a text message from Rachel ten minutes ago to haul my ass to the headquarters or else…

I hate 'or else'.

It leaves no room for debate.

When I arrive, I notice that I'm not the only one who's gotten the message. Artie and Tina are already in the room, chatting about the latest episode of some television show, and I'm in time to hear about how one of the main characters had been unfairly killed off or whatever.

"Hey, guys."

"Hi, Finn," Tina pipes up with a wide smile.

Artie gives me a wave. "Hey, man."

"You guys have any idea what this meeting is about?" I ask, pulling a swivel chair to sit before fishing out the muesli bar I have in my pocket. Peeling the wrapper, I take a bite.

"No, I don't, actually," Tina answers. "Do you think something happened at Warhorn U?"

"Like what?" Artie muses out loud. "An interesting case?"

Of course I'm aware that Sam and the others hadn't gone to help out with a case at all, but I'm still obligated to keep my mouth shut. My job here is to simply put out any suspicions should it arise in Artie and Tina. The only thing I want in return, though, is a batch of Mrs. Evans' scrumptious chocolate chip cookies.

I finish off my snack and throw the remains into the bin. "Well, I heard that half the campus in that school is supposedly haunted. There have been numerous reports of activity since way back in 1984."

"Well, look who actually did their homework," Tina chuckles.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Sam enters the room then with Mike and they're engaged in some kind of conversation. Rachel follows closely behind, preoccupied with her cellphone, and last but not least is Quinn Fabray. It's almost impossible not to stop and stare because every time I see her, I feel like she's gotten more beautiful each time. There's such a glow about her that's so attractive. She turns her head and our eyes meet, and about a million things are flooding into my head but all I keep hearing are Mike's words when he tells me to keep my thoughts to myself. Honestly, I hadn't meant to offend Quinn in any way—her Psychic abilities sometimes slip my mind—and afraid of my lack of mental self-control, I quickly avert my gaze.

"Hi team," Sam addresses. "Thank you so much for being here on short notice. There's something really important that I need to let you know—well, more for Tina and Artie, actually—and that I've actually been keeping a big secret from the both of you, but it's about time I let it out."

I catch Rachel's attention, silently asking her for a confirmation. She nods, and I'm just wishing I'd brought another muesli bar with me because this is going to take some time and I'm sure that I'll probably be hungry again in ten minutes. Quinn must've caught that thought because she reaches into her satchel and produces a zip-lock bag with some cookies in it.

"You're a lifesaver, Quinn," I gush before taking a bite of the awesome treat.

Sweet Jesus, Sam's mom really does make the best Goddamn chocolate chip cookies in the whole world.

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 6.40pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Hopefully the fourth time is a charm because it's really exhausting to retell the same story all over again. Perhaps I really should just record this down on a Dictaphone or something; play it back when necessary.

"And so we're meeting Sugar later at Breadstix to let her know that we need to re-investigate the house," I conclude at last. Quinn hands me a bottle of water and instinctively, I drop a kiss to her lips. It's only when she stiffens that I realize the unintentional public display of affection. Feeling the heat creep into my cheeks, I scramble to unscrew the cap before taking huge gulps of the refreshing beverage.

Finn clears his throat and tries to dispel the awkwardness in the air. "What if we can't convince her to let us re-investigate the house?" he asks.

"Then we'll just have to tell her the story," I shrug, hoping that's not going to be the case.

Rachel stares at me with a dubious quirk of her eyebrow. "All of it?"

"Not everything, of course. What if she mentions it to Rick Camden? It can jeopardize our entire mission." Glancing down at my watch, I realize the time. "Well, I better get going, then. I'm taking Rachel and Mike with me. Quinn, why don't you run the evidences with Tina and Artie in detail, and let's see if there's another way we can find that box besides using my dad's old metal detector."

"Got it."

"We'll be back later."

The journey over to Breadstix is surprisingly quiet, with Mike riding shotgun and Rachel in the backseat. It's not a long drive there, but the weekend means that parking is going to be a bitch. I have to circle three blocks before finding a lot and it's quite a walking distance from the restaurant, too. The place is relatively crowded, but at least it's not filled with screaming kids running around. We find a comfortable booth for ourselves, order some appetizers and wait for Sugar to arrive.

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry that I'm late." The flustered girl slides in next to Rachel and promptly adjusts her slightly mussed hair. "If only my mom would grow some sense and marry some rich old man so that he can buy the place, I wouldn't have to wait in line for VIP parking."

"They don't have VIP parking," I inform her.

"Oh, well, then they should," she huffs. "And in any case, I should also probably get my car keys back from that lady at the door."

Just like that, she disappears again just as a waitress places a basket of breadsticks on the table. While we hold a silent debate on whether or not we ought to start without her, Sugar returns to the seat, out of breath.

"Sorry again," she apologizes. "I don't really like people much. I hope one day an asteroid strikes and kill them all so that I can rule the world."

Okay.

"Would you like something to drink?" Rachel asks.

"Cold iced tea, without the ice."

Rachel looks a little harassed after that, so I flag the waitress down, repeating Sugar's orders.

"So, you just want hot tea, then?" Kelly—our server—clarifies.

"No, I just want cold iced tea, without the ice," Sugar snaps. "Is that too much to ask?"

The waitress gives a nod before promptly scurrying off, and Sugar beams in satisfaction. She reaches for a breadstick, examines it in great detail and then puts it back down in the basket. Rachel is horrified, and I'm sure that she's seconds away from deconstructing.

Mike leans in. "Dude, did she just—"

"Yeah," I murmur.

"So what is it about the house that's important?"

"Well, we've been doing some research on the property and we've discovered some really interesting information that we'd like to explore. Remember those thermal anomalies that we've captured?" I remind her.

Sugar visibly shudders at the thought. "Yeah?"

"We'd like to go in and investigate the plantation again."

"Why? I thought we've established that there are paranormal activity outdoors?"

Kelly returns with Sugar's drink.

"Thank you."

"There's something we left out when we presented our evidence to you. During our research, we found out that Camden House was originally called The Roseanne House, built in 1958, named after Roseanne Walters. In 1962, there had been a flood and it washed everything away. The house was gone and she drowned in the basement," I explain tentatively as I gauge her reaction, wondering if this would be too much for her. "When Camden House was built, it wasn't on the exact same spot, which would explain why we couldn't catch anything truly paranormal in there. Outside, though—"

"That spot with the thermal stuff is where the house had been," Sugar concludes for herself.

I nod. "You're right."

"We just want to know if it had been Roseanne or anybody else still present. Spirits tend to attach themselves to places of tragedy—crime scenes, hospitals, penitentiaries—if we can pinpoint a specific person, we might be able to know why they're still around."

Sugar spends a moment digesting the information.

"I'll talk to Rick. He doesn't like people poking around, but maybe I can convince him one more time."

Releasing the breath that I haven't been aware I'm holding, I try not to look too pleased. "Thank you, Sugar. You have no idea how much this case means to us. I think I owe you one."

She smirks. "Damn straight, you do. Right, so I have to go, you know, places to be. Talk to you guys soon. Oh, and you're footing the bill, okay?"

"Sure, of course," I reply as she hops out of the booth and drains her drink in three seconds flat.

"They seriously need to work on their iced tea," she remarks before strutting out of the establishment.

"That girl's a piece of work, isn't she?" Mike groans, rubbing his temple.

"I don't appreciate you objectifying women, Mike," Rachel scoffs.

God help me; they're going to start bickering again.

"Alright, you two," I cut in to save myself the pain. "I'm going to go get some pizza before we get back. I'm sure Finn is bored out of his mind right now and is about to chew his own arm off."

"No pepperoni, please," Rachel immediately requests.

Mike balks at her decision. "What do you mean, 'no pepperoni'? Why not?"

She juts her chin out defiantly. "I don't like pepperoni."

"Who doesn't like pepperoni?" Mike asks, his voice an octave higher than usual. "It's pepperoni."

"Maybe you won't feel so strongly when your arteries are clogged with fats and cholesterol," she retorts, stubbornly folding her arms across her chest.

"Get your own pizza, then."

"I'm just looking out for everybody's wellbeing—"

"Guys!" I exclaim, holding both hands up in the air. "Can we just go?"

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 8.25pm<strong>

**/Tina Cohen-Chang**

"Thank God for pizza!" Finn cheers, suddenly looking very much alive than he had been seconds before Sam walked in with food. "Hallelujah! Sam, my man, you are my savior," he adds before grabbing the box in my team leader's hands and digging into a massive slice. A string of melted cheese dangles from his chin as he takes a bite.

"Finn," I quietly nudge his side.

He tilts his head questioningly—still chewing on his food—and I tap the corner of my mouth to let him know. Messily, he swipes at it with the back of his hand, licking it off right after, and it shouldn't surprise me anymore how he transforms into a twelve-year-old when he's hungry, but it shockingly still does. Reaching for my own slice, I hear Artie asking Sam how it had gone down with Sugar at Breadstix.

"She said that she'll talk to Rick and get back to us on that," he replies. "Any new updates on the case? Anything about the deeds, documents, or stuff that we can find?"

I shake my head. "I can't seem to track anything down, but maybe it's because those files could be confidential—or on hard copy. A lot of documents from long ago haven't even been digitally archived yet, so it might be a little hard. Besides, even if we can find any documents legalizing the Camdens of owning the property, it's just going to prove that the Saviors didn't."

"True," Mike nods. "However, if we can determine the date, the person who had authorized the documents, it might be able to give us a timeframe to investigate."

Well, that makes perfect sense, I suppose.

"I'll look into it, but I can't promise anything. The documents we're looking for might be confidential, so I probably can't access it."

Sam just shrugs, pointing his thumb over to my other Asian counterpart. "Mike can do it."

"Yeah, I sort of can," he proudly affirms, rolling the swivel chair over to his desk. "We're searching for a Bill Camden, right?"

I make my way over, hovering over his shoulder. "Yes."

His fingers dance across the keyboard, and the screen spews a totally different page. He types codes faster than I can read them all, and it's actually really amazing how he does it. I mean, I know that he's super smart—like smarter than the average Asian kind of smart—but this is just a whole other level of hacking into a government's archive.

"Are you sure we won't get caught?" I ask, slightly nervous because what we're doing is sort of a crime, isn't it?

He smirks. "We might."

"What?" Rachel shrieks from across the room. "What are you saying? That we're all most likely going to end up in prison after this?"

"Stop over-reacting, Rachel," Finn snorts, his words muffled by his second slice of pepperoni pizza.

"Excuse me, but I think I do have the right to over-react. I can't go to jail," she sputters. "I have a whole future ahead of me and it doesn't involve orange jumpsuits."

"Relax, okay," Mike says with outmost nonchalance that makes me wonder if he's done this a million times before. I'm sure he has; what with the classified information that he's managed to procure time and again for our cases. "I've got this. The government uses the same standard-issued security system everywhere," he explains, still typing away. "It's stupid, really, because if I'm able to hack into one domain, I can access the others just as easily. It's basically a link in server so that the police or whatever doesn't have to go through layers of security detail to attain what they need."

"But didn't you use an unsecured wireless network the other time?" Quinn wonders.

"I did."

I give him a look. "So there's a possibility that the government can track us down this time since we're using the school's I.P address?"

"That's about right."

"We're really going to prison, now, aren't we?" Rachel blurts out, utterly panicked.

"We're not," Mike sighs. "If they pick up on anything, we can just tell them that it's an accident or something. It's not like we're stealing military secrets and selling them to terrorists, sheesh."

"I need to get out of here," Rachel wheezes, panicking and fanning herself. "I'm feeling nauseas."

"I'm in," Mike announces victoriously, and everybody rushes over, crowding around him. "And now to dig up some stuff on Bill Camden's properties."

A bunch of words start running down the screen in columns, and I have to squint my eyes to read them all.

"It says in the records that he has seventeen properties across The United States," Mike reads, and I'm sure that he's probably the only one who can. "The ones that are highlighted were his bigger assets. 2 in Colorado, 3 in Utah—"

"Who would buy a property in Utah?" Finn remarks, scrunching is nose in distaste.

"2 in New York, 6 right here—"

"Filter those out," Sam tells him. "We just need to focus on his properties here."

Mike does more of his coding stuff. "Okay, there's one in Brayne, one up at Peeka Hill, one down at Mayson Valley and one at—hang on, this can't be right."

"What? What's wrong?" I ask.

"The address of the Camden House—it's not on the list."

Sam glances at him. "What do you mean—"

"It was never registered. There's no documentation here whatsoever about the Camden or the Roseanne House, which means—"

I watch as realization dawns on Sam's face.

"Bill Camden never had a legal document to the property. He probably faked it."

Mike grins. "Let's bust his ass."

* * *

><p><strong>Saturday, 11.15pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"So, are you ready for your reward?" she asks, a coquettish smile gracing those succulent lips.

"Are you asking me what I think you're asking me?"

She giggles, and then quick as a lightning, she's straddling my hips, settling herself down on my clothed erection. Her palms are splayed on my chest and her silky blonde hair tumbles down her shoulders in waves of gold, and I'll be damned if this isn't the most sensual thing on the planet.

"Think you can handle it tonight?" she teases, grinding down on my growing bulge.

An involuntary groan rumbles from deep within my throat at the tingling sensation now pulsating down south. Fucking hell, she's trying to kill me.

"I can take you any time, Q."

With an elfishly grin, she leans down to kiss me, slipping her tongue into my mouth for good measure while I hum in appreciation because she's hardly ever the instigator. I love it when she takes control, especially when she does that thing where she digs her fingers into my hair and massages my scalp. I run my hands up her smooth legs, hitching the skirt of her dress higher up to leave her milky flesh exposed. She's warm beneath my touch and when I unintentionally brush against the inner apex of her thigh, I can feel a shiver course through her body as she gasps in my ear.

"Sam—"

"Jesus, Quinn."

She tears her lips away from mine only to take the bottom of my shirt in her grasp before pulling it over my head, and in return, I fumble with her zipper, practically tearing at her clothes like a kid during Christmas.

"Goodness, Sam," she laughs breathily when I roll her over so that she's sprawled out on my bed. "Someone's excited."

Smirking down at her, I begin tugging on my belt as she assists in removing my jeans. I heave a sigh as my aching member springs free of the straining confines.

"Oh, my God, please tell me you didn't go commando all day."

I wink naughtily at her. "I did."

She gazes up at me, looking giddy and slightly high, and shakes her head in a mixture of awe and disbelief. "How on earth did you—you know what, I don't want to know."

"Yeah, good idea," I quip back, punctuating the conversation with a long, deep kiss, and effectively cutting her off from saying anything else. There are better things to do that don't involve stringing words into coherent sentences.

Impatiently, I remove the remaining barriers between us and with one final nod of approval, I sink into the sweet welcome of her womanhood. My eyes are squeezed shut, the fireworks exploding behind my closed lids, and fuck, this is home. I still my movements, afraid that if I were to do anything even in the slightest sense, this will be over all too soon.

"You okay, there?"

Her voice lures me back to the present as she pushes the hair away from my forehead.

"I just—hang on for a sec—"

"One second is way too long, Sam—"

Fuck it, then.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Phew! Well, that was eventful! LOL! Sam's dream is back, Tina and Artie finds out, Sugar is back to help, there's a new discovery about Bill Camden, and steamy Fabrevans scene! Hope you guys have enjoyed the roller coaster!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked that small scene between Sam and Quinn :D Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Guest**: Hello there! Thank you for reading and reviewing! Much appreciated!

**SZ:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving 3 reviews! LOL! I really appreciate it, and I'm glad you like the story :D I think with Sam being a paranormal investigator, it sort of helped with his parents because they seem to accept the situation better. I've added two Fabrevans scenes in this update, so hopefully you've enjoyed them! Finn will still be in this story. His character will always live in our hearts, and I think the best thing I can do is to write his character in the best and most respectful way possible. In this chapter, you'll know that he's sort of realized what a creep he'd been with Quinn and is trying his best to be respectful of her abilities. Cheers!

**Nicole:** LOL! Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and always leaving colorful reviews, as always! I love Sam's parents! They're so understanding of everything in the show, and so I want that to shine through in my story as well. I'm glad the humor in the story helped you with the stress of school. It's cool that you play Netball, and I understand how tiring trainings are :D Apologies for missing out your question. I'm in Singapore right now; I was only in LA for two weeks. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Lots of things happening in it!

**Kera:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, especially with that scene where Sam and Quinn kissed. I couldn't resist :D Finn is still in this story—as seen in this chapter—and he will be in my future stories. Just because Cory passed doesn't mean his character will be forgotten. I've added in two fluffy Fabrevans scenes in this chapter, so hopefully you've enjoyed that! Yes, there will be a couple more chapters left before this ends, and when it does, I know I'll miss writing this story! Cheers!


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: **Hi guys! Okay, so I know how I haven't been a really good writer and updating as often as I would've liked, but it's been shit crazy at work, which is when I usually write, so I apologize for this long overdue chapter!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 45**

**Sunday, 8.40am**

**/Sam Evans**

The shrill ringing of a cellphone breaks the peaceful silence of the morning and I hear Quinn groaning next to me as she snuggles deeper into my side, her nose nuzzling adorably against my chest. Peering down at her sleeping form, a smile spreads across my lips, because no matter how many times she's been in my bed—or me in hers—I don't think I'll ever get tired of staring at her angelic features.

"Sam," she mumbles inaudibly. "Please just answer that phone."

With a chuckle, I drop a kiss to her crown and slide out from under the covers. I locate my pants immediately—on the floor by the foot of the bed—and reach in to fish my phone out, glaring at the name flashing on the screen. Sighing in frustration, I answer the call.

"Yes, Rachel?"

"Good morning, Sam," she chirps happily as though she's been up for hours. "I apologize for interrupting your REM cycle, however, I have great news to share with you."

"Go on."

"Sugar called me back this morning." The brunette pauses, as usual, for dramatic effect, and I reckon I should probably humor her a little or I'll never hear the end of it.

"And…?"

"We have an opening slot today to investigate Camden House," she reveals. "Rick and his family will be away to visit a sick relative and will only be back tomorrow. They're leaving after lunch."

"That's great," I reply, stifling a yawn. "Inform the others for me, will you?"

"Sure, Sam, but there's just one slight problem."

I frown, already not liking the sound of this. "What is it?"

"Technically, we're not being granted permission by Rick, but Sugar—"

"She didn't ask him, did she?" I deadpan.

"We need to go in and out stealthily, which means we can't leave any traces behind," Rachel continues, a slight regret in her tone. "No gopher holes the size of an asteroid crater, no telltale mounds of digging—"

"I get it. Okay, fine, give the others a heads-up. We'll meet at the headquarters at twelve."

"Roger that."

Hanging up the call, I place it down on the drawer and crawl back under the sheets, returning to the warmth and comfort of my girlfriend. Quinn curls instinctively into my arms and the scent of her sweet shampoo wafts into my nose.

"What time is it?" she slurs, still half-awake.

"Ten to nine," I answer, absent-mindedly brushing my fingers up and down the length of her arm.

She pauses for a while, and then her eyes blink open. Her brows furrow thoughtfully for a second before she lifts a corner of the comforter. "Did you answer the phone naked?"

"Yeah…" I trail off.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Sam!"

"What? It's not like she can see me."

"It's still inappropriate, don't you think?"

I grin cheekily at her. "Do you know what else is inappropriate?" I ask, watching as the image registers in her head and her expression changes.

"Oh, my God, Sam," she squeals, shoving me away. "You would think after the second round, you'd be fully satisfied by now."

Making a grab for her waist, I pull her in closer so that the valley between her soft buttocks is nicely aligned with my morning wood. "When are you going to learn that I'll never be fully satisfied when it comes to you?" I whisper huskily in her ear. "You're way too irresistible."

She gasps as I give a suggestive thrust, running my hand down the curve of her body and over the swell of her hip. Her breath quickens as I trail lower until I find her pot of honey, and it's driving me crazy just hearing her quiet whimpers of pleasure. God, she's so beautiful, all flushed and turned on.

"Sam…"

"Round three, Q?"

"I suppose we've got time."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 12.15pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

After briefing us on the impromptu investigation—I'm going to call it an archaeological dig—Sam sets us to work on separate tasks for the day. After last night's discovery about the non-existent document pertaining Camden House, I figure maybe I should snoop around a little more and see who really does own it. For all we know, it might still be an unclaimed land of some sort and nobody actually really cared enough to check. After all, the house had been passed down from one family member to another; it wasn't like there was a need to bring in a property agent.

"Anything, Mike?" Sam asks.

I shake my head in reply. "Not really. It bothers me, though, because we can find articles of the Camden House, and even the Roseanne House, so I would reckon that there ought to be a documentation of some sort regarding the property. If it's not in the system, it would mean that there never was one, which was how we came to a conclusion that Bill had probably faked the document."

"So, in the eyes of the government, the house—that address—doesn't exist?" Sam thinks out loud.

"It has to," I shrug my shoulders. "How will they receive mail if the address doesn't exist?"

"So whom does the property belong to?"

"As of now, nobody."

He grins. "Perfect."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 2.25pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Sugar waves enthusiastically as we pull into the driveway, and I don't know, sometimes I reckon she's got ADHD or turrets or something because she can't seem to control herself. She bounces restlessly on her heels, looking like a three-year-old high on caffeine.

"Say, Rach, what's the deal with this Sugar girl?" I ask, glancing up at her reflection through the rearview mirror. "She's always so…"

"Perky?" the brunette finishes my sentence for me.

"Yeah," I nod.

She shrugs her shoulders in reply. "It bothers me a little, and I would definitely recommend her some professional help, especially in the psychological department. But apart from all that flamboyance, she actually seems normal."

"Are you two seriously discussing mental issues about our client?" Tina chirps in.

"It's a legit question," I point out. "In fact, if you two are certain that she's perfectly normal otherwise, I might consider asking her out on a date."

Rachel does that incredibly rude thing where she coughs and chokes on her spit at the same time, and I'm wondering if she's just doing that on purpose because she's jealous. At the risk of sounding like a self-absorbed ass, I have in fact noticed the way her eyes tended to stray and linger a little longer on my body at times, and frankly, I can't blame her. It's hard to resist the Hudson charm.

"You're kidding, right?" she sneers.

"Do you have a problem with it, Rach?"

"Not at all," she huffs in reply. "Just that I don't think you're her type."

I narrow my eyes at her. "And what, pray tell, is her type?"

"Every other male species in the world that's not you," she quips.

"Why don't we bet on it, then?"

Rachel shoots me the dirtiest glare. "I don't condone gambling."

"Ten bucks?"

"Not in a million years, Finn."

"Twenty?" I prod on enticingly.

Tina sticks her hand out instead. "Deal."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 2.40pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Thank you, once again, Sugar, for helping us with this. It means a lot to us—and me, personally—that you'd risk getting caught—"

"Yeah, well," she shrugs her shoulders, attempting to appear nonchalant about it, but the jittery way she's bouncing on her heels is kind of a giveaway that she's apprehensive. "Do anything stupid and you're going down with me, understood?"

I nod enthusiastically despite the weight and seriousness in her threat, and with one final dismissive grin, she skipped down the steps towards her magenta-colored bicycle. It's one of those girly-type ones, with streamers hanging from the ends of the handlebars and a cute little basket at the front, and from the corner of my eyes, I notice Finn rolling his eyes in amusement as Sugar hops on and pedals off.

"Alright, guys, let's move it," I call out. "Gather the equipment, set up the central command, and then we'll do one final briefing before we begin. Got it?"

Everybody nod cohesively before scattering off to their respective tasks, and I'm off to go talk to Quinn but she's preoccupied with Artie, speaking in hushed tones, their foreheads almost touching. I'm not sure which instinct kicks in first, the investigator or the boyfriend, but in any way, the seriousness on both their faces is enough to be suspicious.

"Hey, everything okay?" I ask, walking up to the pair.

They exchange quick glances, and then Quinn straightens up, clearing her throat, and I have an inkling of feeling that I might not like what she's about to tell me.

"What's wrong?"

She takes a deep breath. "I can't feel anything here, Sam."

Momentarily confused, I tilt my head. "Can't feel what?"

"It's quiet right now; too quiet," she murmurs.

"What does that mean?"

Artie jumps in, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "It means that whatever we'd felt the previous time we were here, it's gone. We can't feel it."

"Shit, and that's a bad thing, right?"

They nod simultaneously, and I'm already dreading where this is heading for our investigation. With such a small pocket of time, we need all the help we can find, especially since we're practically hosting an—and I quote Mike Chang—archaeological dig. Running my hand through my hair, I try to calm my racing heart and not freak out at the dull prospect.

"Look, Sam, this isn't a lost cause, alright?" Quinn says softly, reaching out to interlace her fingers with mine. "We still have a ton of equipment that we can use and we're not exactly excavating the entire plantation. We can still do this."

She gives my hand a squeeze and a reassuring smile that's about as radiant as her beauty, and it's impossible not to reciprocate. "Yeah, you're right. Arts, are our equipment ready?"

"We should be ready to go in fifteen minutes or so," he nods.

"Good, because that's about all that we have."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 3.25pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"I've calculated the circumference of the area of activity during our previous investigation," I inform the gang, showing them my sketch of the plantation with 'X's marking the position of trees. I've even circled the particular tree in which we'd found the box. "We shouldn't have too much to cover, so we can concentrate more on this area."

"Considering we only have one metal detector, I say we follow the exact same path we took that night," Sam says, tracing a line on the paper with his finger. "Every time we get a beep, we lay out markers. After the first marker is down, the first team gets to it. Now, if there aren't any questions, let's get to it. We have four hours to finish up here, so no mucking about, understand?"

A chorus of acknowledgment follow suit, and without wasting anymore precious time, Sam grabs the metal detector, gives me a nod and off we go. It makes sense, obviously that we're the ones to lead the find. Walking beside my team leader, I can feel the tension radiating from his body as he gazes straight ahead with an immense amount of concentration on his features. More than twenty steps in and there still isn't a single change in the monotonous sound of the device, but I suppose it's a bit of a good thing. It just means that there isn't rubbish lying around for us to uncover, like metal cans and sorts.

The shrill change in the pitch of the beep startles me for a second.

"Is that it?" I ask.

Sam shrugs his shoulders and I pitch the marker—a miniature red flag—on the spot. Reaching into the back of my pocket for the walkie-talkie, I radio for central command to send in the first team before we resume with the search. Ten steps later, we get another reading and the cycle continues.

An hour later, I'm starting to run out of markers, and next to me, Sam is growing anxious. We're on our final yard or so of the area and so far, we've marked out eleven spots. The first one turned out to be an old, rusty bottle cap, and Sam had clicked his tongue in disappointment. The second one turned out to be an old canteen used during the war, which Rachel insisted we bring to an antique specialist to see if it's any worth at all. According to the smart-ass, it could belong to some famous veteran and old artifacts as such should be displayed in a museum, but Sam had insisted that we don't necessarily need that junk and she had rambled off for ten minutes straight about the pride of our country. In the end, it had been Finn to successfully shut her up by pointing out that it would be illegal for her to possess artifacts that belong in someone else's property.

"Was that the last one?"

"I'm afraid so," I reply. "If we can't find anything under those markers, we'll need another strategy. There's no way we can cover the entire plantation."

He turns to face me, a frown upon his lips. "I know," he mutters before glancing back at the rest of the team. "I'll take that last marker and you start on the one before that, alright?"

"Roger."

As I'm moving towards the tenth flag, Finn lets out an excited whoop.

"I think I've found something," he announces, jabbing his spade deeper into the earth. There's a metallic sort of clinking sound coming from under the ground and everybody rushes over to huddle around him.

Bit by bit, as more of the object is uncovered, there's no mistaking a slight silver of something either made of steel or aluminum beneath the surface. Finn abandons his tool and drops to his knees to pull it out by hand. It's silent as he fishes for the article and I'm holding my breath.

"Fuck."

"What is it, Finn?" Rachel bravely questions.

"It's not a box," he grumbles, turning the disappointingly flat sheet of metal in his hands. "It has a red coat of paint on the other side. Could be a stray piece of zinc or steel, perhaps from a car or a bike."

"Damn it," Sam hisses.

"Come on, guys, we still have a couple more markers to go," Tina urges, bringing the group out of our depressing funk. "Tick, tock."

While everybody resume with their work, I catch Sam pulling Quinn aside. He says something to her and she shakes her head solemnly in return. Lip-reading isn't my strongest suit—that's probably Rachel's specialty—but even I can tell that whatever they're discussing isn't good. Either way, I can't really dwell on it. Reaching for a trowel, I start delving into the soft soil, careful not to ruin the grass. Twenty minutes later—dripping with sweat and with blisters starting to form on my palms—all I find is a well-oxidized screw for my efforts.

"Number ten: screw," I declare so that Artie can make a record of inventory on his clipboard.

A beat later, I hear Quinn's voice from a few feet away.

"Number five: pipe connector."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 4.50pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Number eight—" Finn pauses to closely inspect the item. "I don't even know what the hell this is, but it's not a box; that's for sure."

Shit.

"That's the last of it, Sam," Artie reports, glancing up from his clipboard.

Shit, shit.

"What do we do now?" Mike asks as he dusts his hands against his jeans. "Would it be practical to do an entire sweep of the plantation?"

Wordlessly, I shake my head, cursing inwardly at the unnecessary roadblock. There's no telling how big of a perimeter it would be before we stumble onto the right spot; it could take us days. With a heavy sigh, I turn to Quinn, knowing that she's my last chance at uncovering this.

"Still nothing, Q?"

She catches her teeth between her lips. "No, nothing at all."

I rub my tired eyes, feeling dejected. Damn, this isn't good news. We only have two hours left to find the box and things aren't looking up for us at the moment. Of course, dealing with the paranormal means that things are always unpredictable. How many times have we gone into an investigation and not have it turn out the way we plan? Some things can't be explained, and those circumstances are just unfortunate.

"Okay, why don't we take a short break and grab some water while I formulate a plan?" I tell my team. "And then perhaps we'll re-group to see if we can cover more ground."

While everybody goes to grab the bottles of drinks from the cooler, I check on all of the items that we've found. Things aren't adding up—I had been so sure we'd find the box here—and maybe something is missing; perhaps a vital clue or an indication of some sort that could point me in the right direction. Maybe we're going at it all wrong. My eye catches on the canteen that Rachel had dug out and gingerly, I run my finger over the rusty edges. There's that bottle cap with its paint already faded and barely visible, a screw, a pipe connector, a strip of metal that might or might not have been from an automobile, a dented teaspoon, an out-of-shape key ring that looks way past its initial purpose, another useless strip of metal, a thin piece of nail, the corner of a chipped-off tin and quite possibly a knob from an old radio.

"Not thirsty?"

My eyes snap up at the unmistakable voice as Quinn holds up a bottle of water, wriggling it enticingly, and I can't help but grin because she's way too adorable for her own good. Gratefully, I accept the drink, twisting the cap to take a long swig.

"Sam, I think I might have an idea," she says softly with a hint of uncertainty. "I'm not sure if it'll help, but I think it's worth a try."

Intrigued by her words, I move in closer, running a hand down her arm. "What is it?"

"Did you bring your mom's ring?"

"Yeah, I think so. Why would you need it—" I pause in midsentence, immediately understanding her intentions. "You're going to use it to trigger a presence, aren't you?"

She beams up at me. "Well, look who's reading my mind now."

I'm smiling like a stupid idiot now, and as she stands up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss to my lips, I reckon I should be smarter more often if this is how she's going to reward me. With a gentle shove against my shoulders, she urges me towards the car to retrieve my mom's ring. Opening the glove compartment, I sift through the papers and the other rubbish in there until I find the small familiar box. Plucking the ugly-looking jewelry from the holder, I hand it over to Quinn.

"Let's hope this works," she says and inhales a mouthful of air as I drop the ring onto her palm.

However, as her fingers curl around the jewelry, she gasps and whirls around the exact same time Artie snaps his head up. Her hazel brown eyes widen into perfect saucers, and then she's running over to her fellow Empathic counterpart.

"Do you—"

"I feel it," he cuts in. "He's here."

"But I can't see him," she declares. "I don't know where he is."

"I'm only getting scatters of energy," Artie informs her. "I can't identify it, but it feels exactly the same as the night of our investigation."

"He's here but he's hiding," she whispers, turning to face me. "I need your help, Sam. It'll probably be stronger if it comes from you," she continues before thrusting the ring into my hand. "Alright, mister. You know the drill; now hurry up and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am."

Wrapping my arms around her slim waist, I draw her closer, her body flushed against mine, and as her heat seeps into my skin, I lean down to seize her lips. On autopilot, my head blanks out, emptied of wandering thoughts. Behind my closed eyelids, it begins—the onslaught of darkness, and then that glowing ball of light that comes zooming in before it halts so abruptly, it throws me off my equilibrium for a second. I'm still clinging onto Quinn as her fingers thread through my hair, and then I see him.

Wayne Hunters.

He's standing, looming in the shadows, and watching us with piercing blue eyes.

"He's here," Quinn grates out between gulps of air as she twists away from my hold. She scans across the plantation, her gaze sharp and attentive, sweeping the area until she comes to a sudden stop.

"Sam, I think we've been searching in the wrong direction."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Just a few more chapters now, I swear. I'm targeting to end by chapter 50. Whether or not I end the story before that, well, I suppose even I don't know that. LOL!

**IWantNiley3.0:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing the previous chapter! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the small Fabrevans interactions! I love slotting them in—those mundane relationship gestures—because it makes Sam and Quinn relatable since the genre of the story is so vague. I'll be sure to add more of those moments in :D Of course I'm keeping Finn, I mean, he's very much a part of this story as everyone else and his character should be treated as such :D

**RJRRAA:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing every single time! I can't say it enough how I really appreciate your time! I suppose, at one point of time, this story has to end somehow, because there's THA to look forward to! LOL! Honestly, I have no idea what Sam was thinking at the moment, and I can't remember what it was when I wrote it, but think of it any way you want :D LOL! That would be really interesting if Rachel and Mike started dating, for sure, now that we know that Finn is interested in Sugar. We'll see how…:P

**Sz:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story! I'll definitely miss writing this story because it opens up to so many possibilities. Don't worry, though, I still have another story to complete, and I have a couple of story ideas in mind already! Cheers!

**Guest (1):** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the Fabrevans sexy time! I'll try to slot in more of those, but in the meantime, I've done a morning-after scene for this chapter. It's more fluffy than smutty, but hopefully you've enjoyed it either way. I'm glad that the mystery with Bill Camden intrigues you, because it is rather complicated and what not. Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Guest (2):** LOL! Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm a pretty normal person in real life, just an average girl, really. I can't tell you which school I used to attend but because my family traveled quite a bit when I was younger, I was exposed to different ways of education :D

**Kera:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, as well as the Fabrevans scenes! Yeah, I have mixed feelings about ending this story too, but rest assured, I'll definitely be working on more Fabrevans stories. Besides, I still have THA to continue with!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it I'm glad you liked Mike and Rachel. They're so much fun to write because of their clashing personalities and it makes for really colorful bantering. I'm also glad that you liked the recap and the development of the story, and that the whole team is involved because they each bring a different specialty into the case! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Ashley:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and I'm terribly sorry for the delayed update! Happy very belated birthday! Being 16 is amazing, and you're going to love it! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**LorMenari:** Hi there! Wow! Thank you so much for spending two whole days reading this story from the start! I really appreciate your time! I'm glad you like it (would be a total bust if you didn't)! Hope you've enjoyed this latest chapter!

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**Werundismutha:** Hi there! LOL! 3 days? Wow! Thank you so much! I really appreciate the time and dedication! I'm glad you like it so far! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: **So, this it overdue, I know, but I promise it's going to be interesting.

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 46**

**Sunday, 5.15pm**

**/Sam Evans**

I blink at her, utterly confused.

"What do you mean? We've been searching in the wrong direction?"

Quinn nods her head, her eyes still very much fixated on a particular spot at the other end of the plantation, and then she's glancing down at Artie as he thoughtfully adjusts his glasses.

"He's right there," she announces, a little louder this time. "The box; he buried it there. It makes perfect sense, I mean, why would he bury it at a spot that would eventually be washed away by the flood?"

It clicks immediately that she's absolutely right. For all logical purposes, it makes perfect sense to hide something away from the path of the flood. Quickly, I drop an appreciative peck onto my girlfriend's lips, telepathically telling her that she's been amazing with all this, before I hightail back to the others to inform them of the recent development.

"Mike, a change of plans," I tell him, striding over to central command where the makeshift map of the premise is being laid out. There are sharpie doodles to mark the spots that we've covered, and then the empty spot at the opposite end.

Mike comes up next to me with his hands planted on his hips. "What's up, boss?"

"We've been going at this the wrong way," I say, circling the bare spot on the paper with an orange marker. "See this spot here, that's where the box is."

He gives me a skeptical look. "Are you sure?"

I nod confidently.

"But why would you think—" He stops short, a metaphoric light bulb going off in his head. "It's Quinn, isn't it? Did she feel anything, or—"

"She had a flash, or rather, we had a flash and she felt his presence," I rush to explain. "She thought that it would help if we used my mom's ring as a trigger object. Either way, where we're searching right now, it's in the direct path of the flood. Anything that had been buried in that area would've been washed away. I can bet you a hundred bucks that those relics we've uncovered might not even belong to anybody who had even lived here."

"Which would explain why she hadn't felt anything before," Mike concludes. "Her clairsentience abilities would've picked up on anything belonging to either Wayne Hunters or Violet Savior otherwise."

"Exactly."

Mike examines the map for a moment. "That's still quite a sizable area, though."

"Then we better get to it."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 5.40pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

For everybody's sake, I seriously hope that my team leader knows what the hell he's doing. Digging a hole in the fucking ground is about as exciting as watching two old men playing a game of chess, and I'm not exactly sure what Sam is getting at but he's just about finished explaining the new plan and honestly, I don't like it. I mean, who knows how many more Goddamn markers I might have to dig, only to find some scrap of rusty metal. It's barely even a consolation prize, if you compare it to, perhaps, an antique coin, or a bullet from the World War or something.

Sam and Mike are starting on their sweep with the metal detector after having a quick word with Quinn and Artie, all the while looking suspiciously secretive about it, too. Sometimes I wonder if there are still things that they're not telling the rest of us. Rachel's obvious reserves about Empaths and Psychics aside, I would think that talking about Quinn's abilities would be a hurdle we've crossed as a unit. If there's some kind of flash or another dream, or whatever paranormal shit, I'd like to know about it.

"Hey, Tina?"

She gives this sort of exhausted-sounding sigh, and I suppose I can't blame her, what with all the hard work we've put in toady. "Yes, Finn?"

"Do you think we'd ever find that box?" I ask in a hushed tone.

Shrugging her shoulders, she replies, "I don't know, but I'm hopeful."

I scrunch my nose up at her. "Really?"

"Why?" Her forehead creases up a bit. "What's got your panties up in a twist this time?"

I give her the stink eye for taking a jab at me, but I'm going to chalk it up to temporary insanity from over-exertion. "I just don't want our efforts to be for nothing, you know. Honestly, I have better things to do on a Sunday afternoon than slaving away finding for something that might or might not even exist."

"Now look who's the skeptic," Tina quips. "Besides, who are you trying to kid here, Hudson? You and I both know that you spend your Sundays cooped up in your room watching Star Trek porn."

"Hey!" I yelp in protest. "That is not true—"

She arches an eyebrow in amusement. "Star Wars porn, then?"

Isn't she supposed to be the demure one in the group?

"Tina Cohen-Chang, I'll have you know that—"

"First marker down," Mike calls out then, cutting me off from finishing my sentence. "Finn, you're up."

Oh, give me a break.

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 6.05pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

This is it.

"The final stretch," I declare, turning to face my team leader. "You ready for this?"

Sam cracks his neck from side to side, loosening the muscles between his shoulders before sucking in a lungful of air and blowing his cheeks out. "Yeah, I'm ready."

We exchange vague looks, and then he gives this inconspicuous nod as a signal. Clicking onto a button, I pan the metal detector over the tall grass. It gives a quiet steady beep—really old school stuff—and we're close enough to the tree now. The sun is setting, the heat beating down the back of my neck, and as my palms start to sweat, my grip tightens on the handle of the equipment.

The walkie-talkie crackles then, startling both Sam and I that he almost drops the device.

"Shit," he yelps.

"Quinn to Sam and Mike."

He instantly spins around, glancing back to where his girlfriend is standing with Artie at central command. "Go for Sam. What is it, Q?"

"He's gone," she informs him. "Wayne Hunters, I can't feel his presence anymore. He just disappeared and I can't—"

Just then, metal detector goes off, blaring like a jackpot machine.

"Sam, we've got something," I cut in.

"Quinn—"

"No, Sam, that's it," she exclaims. "That's it. His job is done; start digging."

By now, everybody else have abandoned their respective digging tasks to listen in on the conversation, and for that split second of a pause, there's a collective hitch in everyone's breath. Suddenly, it's as though we're all operating on telepathic waves, frozen in our spots. Sam turns to me, and without saying a word, he drops to his knees.

Immediately, I follow suit, unceremoniously dropping the heavy equipment to the ground.

The next thing I know, Finn appears next to me, a spade in hand, and he begins digging with gusto, at long last using his strength and size to good use. From the corner of my eye, I see Quinn making a mad dash over as Tina and Rachel joins the party. It quickly becomes this crazy mess of activity, everybody pitching in the excavation, until we hear this unmistakable sound.

Everything halts.

Nobody moves an inch.

"Oh, my God," Quinn whispers, slightly stunned. Gingerly, she jabs her trowel into the earth again, and as her tool comes in contact with something in the ground, she tosses it aside before delving back in with her bare fingers.

Suddenly, she gasps, flinching as she retracts her hands.

"Q, did you just have—"

"Sam, you need to help me dig. I can't feel my fingers—"

He does so without question. From where I'm kneeling amongst the grass, I can only catch glimpses of a wooden/metallic surface as little by little, Sam and Quinn start uncovering the object. It's starting to feel like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie because this is all so dramatic and tense, and nothing quite like anything we've ever had during our other investigations. This is going to be the turning point for all our future paranormal cases from here on; the implications of what Quinn's Psychic and Artie's Empathic abilities could do for us.

"Come on, just a little bit more—"

Arms elbow-deep in the soil, Sam gives one final haul, and effectively pulls the box out from the ground.

He brushes the dirt off, and in reality, I'm kind of disappointed.

"Is that it?"

Trust Finn to be the voice of us all.

Sam sort of arches an eyebrow, keeping his gaze on the object in his hands. He turns it around in his hold, inspecting the plain-looking wooden box that looks hand-made and not at all something that would hold anything of importance; least of all a family heirloom of some sort. It's dark brown and coated with a layer of lacquer that probably helped to prevent it from corroding through the decades, and a tiny lock that's about as rusty as everything else we've found on the plantation today.

"Well, that's rather anti-climatic," I remark, chucking my spade to the side.

"I suppose we should open it, right?" Rachel asks pointedly, because she's always impatient that way, and despite her flare for the theatrics, she doesn't have the capacity to wait. "I mean, what are we waiting for?"

Tilting his head to the side, Sam closely examines the catch. "Do we have a handsaw or a bolt cutter, or something to break the lock?"

"Don't think so," Artie answers. "The closest we have is a penknife and my trusted Swiss Army."

"Damn it."

"Can't we just smash it against the tree or a rock?" Finn suggests.

"And risk destroying what's inside?" Sam snaps. "What if there's something fragile in the box?"

"Shit, don't have to bit my head off," the taller dude mutters.

Sam heaves a tired sigh. "Yeah, you're right, I'm sorry. It was uncalled for, and I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's cool, dude," Finn brushes it off good-naturedly, and even though he's kind of a shallow douche most times, he's not a stupid asshole. Sure, he can be insensitive, but I reckon he tries to be a better person. It just always explodes in his face; just plain bad luck.

"Right, so does anybody have any ideas on how we can go about opening this thing?"

"I have a wrench in my car," Tina speaks up. "You know, the lock is really rusty. Maybe if we tighten the wrench on it, give it a twist, perhaps it'll break."

Sam's face breaks into a wide grin. "Tina Cohen-Chang, you're a genius!"

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 6.20pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

As Tina jogs back to her car for the wrench, I take that moment to make sure my girlfriend is doing fine. She seemed shaken up earlier, and she's been clutching her hands to her chest; I'm starting to get worried. After placing the wooden box on the makeshift table at central command, I make my way over to where she's leaning against the bumper of my car, arms crossed over her chest.

"Hey," I say softly so as not to startle her.

She turns with a gentle smile on her lips, and even though there's a slight storm in her gorgeous hazel eyes, she still looks amazing. The breeze is picking up a little and it's blowing tendrils of her golden blonde hair about, but she doesn't seem bothered by it.

"Hey, you."

Her voice cracks a little, and it doesn't take a genius to know that she's shakier than what she appears to be.

"What?"

I blink. "What, what?"

She gives a slight giggle that doesn't quite match her quiet façade. "You're staring at me, and I'm getting about a million things shouting in my head from you. Out with it, Evans."

The corner of my mouth twitches, and I reach out to grasp her hips, pulling her closer to me so that our fronts are pressed tightly against each other. "Are you okay?"

She shrugs. "Just a bit on the edge, I suppose."

"What happened earlier?"

Quinn pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I felt—well, when I touched the box—I felt—I felt a jolt run up my fingers. It felt like a zap—like electricity—and then my hands just went numb for a while—"

A shiver spirals down my spine.

"Has that ever happened before?" I ask, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat. "Are you okay now?"

She lifts her hands from my shoulders, showing me her palms. "It's fine now, but there's a slight tingle still. There was just so much energy in that box—"

Removing my own hands from her waist, I trail the length of her arms to intertwine my fingers with hers. They feel warmer than usual, but the softness of her skin feels like velvet against my touch, and I cautiously bring them to my lips, tenderly kissing each one. She sucks in a ragged breath and I'm slowly drowning in the intensity of her twin pools of molten honey. The world slips away—as corny as that sounds—and she disentangles her fingers to cradle my face between her palms.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs.

I willingly oblige, and she lets me in.

Images start flashing into my head in the speed of a freaking bullet train. Emotions I've never experienced in my life flood in like a wrecking ball to my chest, and I feel the air being knocked out of my person.

A scream; it rings clear in my ears.

A pair of cold, blue eyes, rigid and hard glares right back at me.

A woman; she cradling a baby in her chest with a sad smile upon her lips; it's Roseanne Walters.

She's writing now; that journal.

The ring; that ugly ring.

It fades to black.

And then I'm standing in a dark forest. The trees loom overhead, forming black shadows against the velvet night sky. I hear footsteps in the distance, the crunches of grass and twigs and leaves, and my legs move on their own accord to follow them. A clearing manifests and I see a figure—a silhouette of a man dragging an axe behind him—and my first instinct is to hide behind a tree. He takes a swing, and then a few more until he's satisfied.

There's a flash of lightning, illuminating just enough to catch the profile of his face.

A clap of thunder, and then a booming rumble.

An oncoming storm.

He leaves in haste before heaven opens up and it starts pouring.

The rain is freezing, but I keep going until I realize exactly what I'm looking at.

"Fuck," I hiss, tearing myself away the exact same time Quinn lets me go. I'm gasping for breath, trying to slow down my rapidly beating heart. "Fuck, that was—shit, I don't—did that really happen?"

Quinn nods.

"Someone wanted to kill them."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 6.35pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

Whatever is going on between Sam and Quinn looks serious, and nobody dares to even think to interrupt their private moment. He has his forehead resting against hers, so intimate, I feel like I'm intruding on something, and I know that the others are probably shamelessly watching as well, but I reckon we're starting to be a little creepy.

"Erm, maybe we should—" Tina starts, clearing her throat.

"Yeah," I agree with a nod. "We should, you know, let them—"

"You think something is wrong?" Finn mutters, sounding a little disgruntled. "This isn't exactly the best time to act out a scene from _The Notebook_."

"Finn, what are you doing watching that movie, anyway?" Tina asks and quirks an eyebrow.

"Rachel made me watch it," he sputters defensively, hands flailing animatedly in the air. "She told me that there was going to be some action in the movie, and I stupidly believed her."

To my left side, the petite brunette in question snickers wickedly. "Wasn't the first time you stupidly believed something, Finn. You also thought _Moulin Rouge_ was about a female _James Bond _disguised as a courtesan."

That garners a chorus of laughter from everybody else while Finn scowls at a corner, muttering on about girls and his weakness to their foxy tongues. Poor dude; can't ever catch a break, so I give him a sympathetic pat to his back. It's a good break from the tension in the air, though almost immediately, the group sobers up as Sam and Quinn return, looking rather beaten up.

"You guys okay?" I question. "Did something happen?"

Sam hesitates for a bit and I notice how his eyes are slightly glazed over. "Yeah, sort of," he strains out before running a hand over his flushed face.

"Well, what happened?" Artie prods on, and I'm sure his Empath abilities are kicking in full gear because he has that slightly panicked expression.

"Quinn—well, when Quinn—earlier on, when she touched the box, she had a flash," he explains.

"What kind of a flash?" Rachel presses, her tone curt and brusque.

"She saw the flood," Sam soldiers on, and there a hint of pain in the way he's choking up. "Everything that led to believe that it was a natural occurrence, but Wayne Hunters, he saw it happen, and he couldn't save Roseanne Walters from drowning in the house."

"Are you saying that someone caused the flood?"

He turns to me, and I don't think I've ever seen him this haunted. "There was a man; he was carrying an axe, and he knew of the impending storm, so he sabotaged the pipes and flood drains."

Tina gasps, and I'm trying to wrap my head around this new information because it's so fucking warped right now. Sifting through my knowledge of the flood that I've read up during my research, there never was an implication of foul play. Besides, the Roseanne House wasn't the only estate that the flood had hit, so it was never really investigated. Floods were rather common back then, people just assumed it was the weather.

"Dude, that's so fucked up," Finn mumbles. "Do you know who the person is?"

He nods. "John Camden."

Holy shit.

This case just got to a whole new level.

"So, he obviously knew about Roseanne and Wayne's affair," Tina muses out loud. "Which means that John, being bitter about Roseanne's rejection to his proposal, tried to kill Roseanne and Wayne by drowning them in a flood and allowing people to think that nature was responsible for it?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Finn interjects. "That doesn't make sense. See, if John actually knew where Roseanne and Wayne were hiding, wouldn't something have been done to the Roseanne house the second time it was built?"

When did he get so perceptive?

"John and his family probably fled back to the States," I take a guess. "Lick their wounded pride, you know."

Finn skeptically scrunches his forehead together. "So how did it come about that Bill Camden knew of Violet Savior, or that she was the illegitimate child to Roseanne and Wayne?"

Damn, he's on fire.

"Perhaps he just felt like revisiting the property, you know," Tina shrugs her shoulders. "Some people find satisfaction in stealing another person's property; maybe he's that kind of a person. An eye for an eye—or in this case, a house for a woman."

This is seriously giving me a headache. I never liked speculations; I like deducing from concrete evidence because we can be going about this in circles for days and we'll still end up without a solid answer.

"Okay, stop," Sam cuts in, his voice lacking the usual authority. "Let's just—Tina, do you have the wrench?"

"Yeah, right here," she tells him, grunting as she holds the huge-ass tool up in the air.

"Alright, then, time to open the box."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 6.50pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

The weight of the wrench in my hand does nothing to soothe the nerves jumping in my stomach, but I suppose it's because deep down, I know that by opening the box, it's going to change a lot of things about me, about my family and our history. It's a daunting task—rewriting your family tree, or rather, completing it—and I can only imagine what next Christmas is going to feel like.

"It's not a treasure chest," Quinn chuckles good-naturedly, and I know she's just doing that to help, so I return the favor with an appreciative grin. "Come on, big guy. We don't have forever."

Mike is holding the box in place, just to ensure that I don't end up flinging it across the plantation or something like that, and I give him the nod. He shifts a little, stabilizing his footing, and when he returns the gesture, I give the lock a sharp twist.

The rusty lock crumbles easily into crushed pieces.

"Alright, everybody ready?" I ask, more for my own benefit than anything else.

"Do you need a drumroll?" Finn deadpans.

He was clearly asking for it. From the corner of my eye, I see Rachel jabbing her elbow into the side of his rib cage as he grunts in pain. Quinn slides a warm, gentle hand down the expanse of my back, soothingly tracing the line of my spine.

Gingerly, with slightly trembling fingers, I lift the lid off the wooden box.

And then I know, just by a short glimpse.

I've found it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Well, that's long overdue, I reckon. There's not much Fabrevans in this one—well, nothing heavy, anyway—but they've found the box and they're getting closer to solving the missing pieces in the mystery!

**IWantNiley3.0:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! LOL! Yes, they have FINALLY found the box, as well as uncovering a bit of history with Quinn's flashes. It's ending soon, now, and it won't take long till everything is fully resolved! Cheers!

**Nicole:** Hello there! LOL! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, especially since I've been taking so long with my updates! Crazy work schedule and all, and I suppose it's a little too late to tell you 'Good Luck' for your exams, but I hope it went well for you! The mystery is slowly coming to an end now, and so it shouldn't be long now till everything is resolved! Hope you've enjoyed this update!

**Guest:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you like the story!

**RJRRAA:** Hello! As always, thank you so much for reading and leaving wonderful reviews that never fail to brighten up my day! I miss Fabrevans every single day, and writing is my only outlet to express them and give their relationship/friendship a world of their own. LOL! The friendship between Rachel and Finn and Mike, they're all platonic at the moment. Yeah, I agree that it'll be cute to pair up the unsuspecting characters because there isn't a limitation when it comes to their interaction. Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**Kera:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Glad you liked the previous chapter, and yes, they're all really close to fully solving the mystery now! Hope you've enjoyed this update!


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: **Hi guys! A merry belated Christmas and a Happy New Year to come! Apologies on the super long wait; it's hectic at work with clients wrapping up projects and colleagues going on holiday, so I've been doubling up on hours in the office! I haven't forgotten about this, though, so as a late present, here's chapter 47!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 47**

**Sunday, 7.05pm**

**/Sam Evans**

I dare not breathe; not even to move a single muscle, and all I can do is stare.

Inside the box; sitting, just waiting for this fateful day.

There's an envelope, neatly tied with a measly piece of twine that had withered and frayed through time. The paper had turned yellow with age—a saffron hue with faded edges—and looks about as brittle as a butterfly's wings.

But that's not what's rendering me speechless.

No, it's something else.

"Is that—" I hear Quinn whisper in my ear. "Sam, that's the ring that—"

I nod absent-mindedly, not trusting myself to speak just yet, and then I'm vaguely aware of Quinn leaving my side. A hand reaches out just then, intruding into my line of vision, but as it inches nearer towards the prized object, my arm instinctively shoots out to stop it.

"Don't touch it," I murmur.

Finn retracts immediately, for once not making some boneheaded comment, and inside, my head is acting on turbulence. There's a twitch in my fingers—a part of me that's itching to touch it—but something is holding me back, and I don't know what.

The distant sound of Quinn's footsteps amplifies in the stillness, and seconds later, she's standing once again next to me. Before I can even turn to look at her, I feel the cool metallic surface of something so familiar being pressed into my palm.

Violet Savior's ring.

Gingerly, I hold it up to eye-level.

"It's the same one, Sam," she quietly points out. "I think the one in the box belonged to Roseanne Walters."

"Well, there's only one way to find out, right?" Mike speaks up, then, breaking the momentary spell. "Quinn?"

"Wait, how is Quinn supposed to know?" Finn asks, an incredulous tone in his voice. "I mean, she can't—"

He was cut off from further embarrassing himself when Rachel takes it upon herself to elbow his side one more time. "Are you some kind of idiot?" she hisses. "She's a Psychic, remember? Clairsentience?"

"Oh, right," he coughs to cover up his slight ignorance for that fact. "I forgot."

I turn to face my girlfriend, who's preoccupied gnawing on her bottom lip, seeming deep in thought. Her brows are slightly furrowed in that uncanny way they do when she's worried about something.

"Hey."

She lifts her head up, wisps of blonde hair fluttering about, but the instant her hazel eyes lock onto mine, I know that she's terrified. Touching the box earlier had given her quite a shock, I would reckon, and she had mentioned something about the energy, and it doesn't take much before I'm piecing it together.

"You don't have to do it," I assure her, because the last thing I want to do is to cause her unnecessary distress. "The ring could've belonged to Wayne or Roseanne; doesn't matter to me, but you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

"No, it's alright," she insists, a little bit of defiance in her words. "I'd like to know too."

"Quinn—"

"No, it's fine, Sam, really."

I regard her for a second longer. "You sure?"

"Yes," she answers firmly.

And then, without another moment of hesitation, she carefully lifts the dulled jewelry and closes her fingers around it. Her eyelids fall shut, and after a couple of beats, her head tilts to the side as lines appear on her forehead.

Something isn't right.

"Quinn?"

"I can't see—"

She's straining now, that much is obvious. The concentration on her delicate features seems to be on the brink of causing her pain, and I can tell just how hard she's trying. Her cheeks are flushed crimson, her lips pressed tightly together, and I'm starting to get a little concerned. She could seriously hurt herself like this.

"Quinn, stop."

Gently, I place my hand on her wrist.

She gasps.

Afraid that I'd unintentionally done something wrong, I immediately release my grip.

"No, put that back," she whimpers urgently. "Sam, put your hand back there."

I do so at once.

"Close your eyes."

They are barely shut before I see it.

Him.

Wayne Hunters; down on bended knee as he gazes up lovingly with a soft smile on his otherwise hard features.

A smile I had never seen before.

His lips are moving; the words unmistakable even though I can't hear it.

_Will you marry me?_

I blink back to the present, staring, stunned, into Quinn's awestruck face. She's panting, her chest heaving, but she's positively beaming. A wide smile spreads across her lips, and I feel my own stretch to mirror hers.

"Oh, my God," she giggles before launching herself into my arms. "He proposed to her."

I can't help the laugh of relief that escapes my throat. "I can't—I can't imagine—"

"Sorry, would the both of you mind sharing that—whatever flash you had—with the rest of us?" Rachel huffs in exasperation. "Who proposed to whom?"

"Wayne Hunters," Quinn gurgles giddily as soon as I set her down on her feet. "He proposed to Roseanne Walters, and it was so simple, yet so significant—"

"So, they were married?" Rachel muses out loud, and I can practically see the wheels turning in that head of hers. "But I thought you said that Violet was an illegitimate child, and that there wasn't a documentation that Roseanne had a spouse."

Huh.

"Well…" I trail off, and the silence resumes as the sun continues to sink in the horizon. The breeze picks up, and shadows are starting to dance among the trees on the plantation, and everything is painted in a dull orange.

And then, tentatively, Quinn retrieves the envelope.

"Maybe this letter will answer that question for us."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 7.55pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

Is it just me, or is this all way too dramatic? I mean, I'm all for suspense and mystery, and all that Nancy Drew/Sherlock Holmes shit, but I think I speak for everyone else in the team when I say that I just want to solve this and get it over with.

We never did manage to read the letter, though. Mike had pointed out earlier on—before we could even open it—that we had better pack up and leave—cover our tracks and all that—before the Camdens return from their trip. We're currently on our way back to campus grounds, and Rachel is going at it at a hundred miles an hour, speculating the possibilities of this entire story.

My stomach has been grumbling since half an hour ago, and I'm starving. God, what I would kill for a burger and some fries right now, and when Sam makes a left turn at a junction to pull up at Breadstix, I can't stop chanting Hallelujah. Immediately after parking the car, I make a dash for it, almost locking Rachel and Tina inside the vehicle in my hurry for some real food.

"Damn it, Finn," Tina remarks, scowling. "We're here. It's not like the diner's going anywhere."

I roll my eyes at her because it's not like she'll ever understand my insatiable relationship with food. It's simple—obviously, nothing quite like her disdain for Dim Sum—but my love for food is beyond a level that anybody can comprehend. I'd barter her off for a fried chicken if I have to, although she doesn't need to know that.

Thankfully, it's not crowded in there even though it's a weekend, and I'm just glad that everybody is ready to order by the time we are seated. When the food arrives, we dig in as though we'd been gone without it for weeks. I don't know about the rest, but I barely glanced up from my plate throughout the entire meal, too focused on shoving food down my stomach, and I think I've just broken my record for the fastest time in consuming a double beef burger.

"Alright, so let's read that sucker, then," I declare with a punctuated clap of my hands after the waitress clears our table and ambles off.

Sam arches an eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Finn?"

"The letter," I clarify. "I suppose now is a good time to read it."

My team leader just shrugs his shoulders. "I left it in the car."

"What? Why?"

He gives me a look, and I swear I hadn't meant for my voice to come out all shrill like that, but damn it, why is he delaying the inevitable? I mean, now that we're so close to figuring everything out and he decelerates on the pace, so excuse me for being a little jumpy on the subject.

"You do realize that he's kidding, right?" Quinn tells me, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What—I don't—what?" I sputter out incoherently. "I'm not Psychic; how would I know that?"

"I'm not Psychic and I knew that," Rachel retorts.

Oh, for the love of God.

"I actually have it here with me right now," Sam admits, fishing the envelope out of his backpack. He places it precariously down on the table, and then proceeds to untie the knot on the twine, so carefully; you'd think he's dismantling a bomb.

"Can you go any slower?"

He shoots me a glare. "It's not a damn Christmas present, Finn. You don't just rip the wrapper off."

"Whatever," I mumble under my breath.

Rachel makes a noise—something rude; akin to that of a snort and a snicker all in one—and whilst flipping her off in the middle of a family-oriented establishment is frowned upon by parents everywhere, I settle on sticking my tongue out instead. Not quite bad-ass, but that will do, for now.

Sam lifts the flaps from the makeshift envelope and inside are several pieces of paper, neatly folded in two, looking so fragile, I think it's going to need some thorough preservation methods after this. He carefully unravels the letters and straightens them out.

"I can't believe this."

Quinn scoots in closer. "What is it?"

"I think it's a page from Roseanne's diary."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 9.30pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Holy shit.

This is it; the last remaining pieces of the puzzle.

I don't think I could've asked for anything better. As I glanced down at the cursive scrawl of writing—so identical to that from the journal—I feel my pulse quicken. The words form a blur, and as I blink to compose myself, I feel a warm, gentle touch on my wrist.

"You alright?" Quinn murmured, giving me a comforting squeeze.

Mutely, I nod my head, but my fingers are still trembling, and I can't begin to read anything on the page because it's dancing so much, so gingerly, I place it on the table, smoothing it out with my palms. Well, here goes nothing.

"She knew it was coming, a storm waiting to happen," I recite, enunciating each line with purpose. "She prayed that he'd let her go, that he'd take pity on the Hunter and his child, that his threat was merely that—hurtful words spoken in anger and jealousy—but she fears his heart is still consumed in darkness. He wanted the Hunter banished from this Earth, into the depths of Elysium, he spoke of it in a sinful promise."

A gasp escapes Quinn's throat, and I pause to regard the rest of my crew. Rachel, Tina and Artie are sporting matching gob smacked expressions—eyes wide and mouths hanging—while Mike and Finn sat in contemplative silence. A cold chill runs down from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine as I register the implications.

"John Camden had threatened Roseanne Walters and made an attempted assassination on Wayne Hunters' life," Mike concludes, his tone hushed and haunted. "What kind of a sick person does that?"

"Someone who's jaded, bitter and egotistical," Quinn spits out. "If he couldn't marry Roseanne, then he decided that nobody else could either."

"Son of a bitch," I growl, my hands tightening into fists.

"He didn't exactly succeed, though," Rachel points out logically. "He killed Roseanne instead, and I suppose when he realized that, he fled. It would explain why nothing happened the second time the house was built."

It all makes perfect sense.

"He was afraid of getting caught."

That cowardly rat bastard.

"Is anything else written on that paper?" Tina asks.

I glance back down at the page but my dyslexia is acting up, and it's all one jumbled piece of mess. As though she can sense my problem, Quinn takes it upon herself to continue reading the rest of the text.

"Should they run? Run and never look back for there is nothing left here for their family." Her voice gives a soothing melody to the otherwise tragic tale, and it calms me in a way that doesn't cease to amaze me. "Somewhere far away. They could get married; free from the shackles that tied them to such despair, and start all over again." She flips the paper over before looking up. "That's it."

"That's so sad," Tina remarks.

"What's on the others then?" Finn gestures towards the remaining slips. "More journal entries?"

I spread them out in front of me because they don't look anything like the pages in Roseanne's journal. In fact, they appear to be documents of some sort, and randomly I pick one up to study it more closely. The ink has faded and the words were barely visible anymore, but there seem to be a crest at the top. There's a paragraph of words that are illegible—considering the elaborate penmanship—though right at the bottom, I'm vaguely able to discern the dual signatures.

"I'm not sure what—"

"Here," Mike cuts in, snatching the paper from my grip. "Let me."

I watch him squint his eyes, examining the document as if it's some ancient dinosaur fossil, and I reckon he's going to take a while, so I move on to inspect the next piece of writing—not that it was much different—and in slight frustration, I heave a sigh. Quinn reaches over and pulls another one closer, and in my peripheral, I see her lightly run her fingers over the paper. She pauses halfway down the length of the page.

"Violet," she whispers, looking up at me with a smile upon her lips. "This is your grandmother's birth certificate. The name is a little hard to make out and the date is a rather faint, but I'm having a vague picture in my mind."

I scoot over, practically pressing myself up into her side as she held the article up for me to read. "Of a hospital?"

"Not really; more like a clinic or someone else's house—"

"Erm…Sam?" Mike interrupts, his voice filled with a hint of excitement. "You won't believe what this is."

Alright, I suppose we can do without the dramatics at this point of time.

"What is it?" Rachel hisses impatiently.

"It's the deed to a property."

A cold chill zips down my spine.

"Which property?"

The corner of Mike's lips twitches as he grins.

"The Roseanne House."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Not long, now. The next few chapters would be mostly about tying up lose ends. The deeds are uncovered, the history of Wayne Hunters and Roseanne Walters, the Camdens, the Saviors, they're all there. It's sort of like 'okay, what now?' kind of situation. Thank you so much for bearing with me, guys. I promise, I'll slot in some Fabrevans sexy time in the next chapter!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for constantly reading and leaving a review! As always, I really appreciate it! Apologies for scaring you so in the previous chapter; hopefully this chapter isn't as spooky. Hehe! I'm glad you liked the little Fabrevans moments, and also with Finn, Tina and Rachel! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter!

**Samquinnchorddianna:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading (and re-reading) and reviewing! I really appreciate it; I'm truly flattered! Honestly, sometimes I get lost writing my own story and I'll have to re-read chapters as well, especially with such a complicated mystery and all. Why did I think it was a good idea when I started this? LOL! Thank you so much for your lovely comments! I'm glad you liked the 4-parters! I've been continuously motivated and inspired by other amazing Fabrevans writers out there who make me want to be my best for the fandom! Cheers to all of them! Hope this chapter sees you well!

**LorMenari:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, especially Finn. He's a great character to work with, and I've always enjoyed writing his point of view! More Fabrevans coming in the next chapter!

**Agronaut13:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad you liked the small moments between Sam and Quinn even though the mystery is now the bigger part of the story as compared to the progression of their relationship, which was the basis at the start. There'll be more of the Fabrevans in the next chapter! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** OMG! You're back! I'm so glad to hear from you, and please, you have nothing to apologize about. I totally understand—us fanfiction writers are not paid to update, writing is not a full-time job and so other obligations take priority—and thank you so much for taking time off to read my updates! I really appreciate it! What you're working on—being a genealogist—sounds so interesting! You really have a lot going on for you, and it's great! Some people forget that we part-time writers have a life outside the fandom, so I'm really stoked for you! Can't wait to hear more from you! Cheers!

**SO LAZY:** LOL! Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I know I don't update as often as I used to. Growing up and doing adult stuff is such a pain sometimes, but I totally agree with you about Ryan Murphy's bullshit. It is true, I mean, it's hard to be inspired by the show that's spiraling downhill into a black hole, and sometimes I feel that in wanting to write a pairing I so adore, I need to separate myself from the actual show, which is tough because some of the characters still exist in the show and it becomes frustrating. I'm just glad that there are people who still have faith and love in Fabrevans enough to continue reading about them. Thank you so much for your lovely comments and words of encouragement! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**Anon:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, and continuing to follow this story! I really appreciate the wonderful comments! Yeah, although this story is coming to an end, I still have another one that's on hiatus that seriously needs some loving after this story is done! Cheers!

**Kera:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I'm glad that you liked the previous chapter, as well as Finn's one-liners! He's a great character to play off! There will be more Fabrevans in the next chapter! Look out for that!

**BlondeGeek247:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! OMG! 2 years? Had it been that long? Hopefully, fingers crossed, if I do find an inspiration for a sequel, I would no doubt do it!


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N: **Here's an update!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 48**

**Sunday, 10.35pm**

**/Mike Chang**

Eventually, we got kicked out of Breadstix by a very sarcastic waitress who made a point of shoving the bill in our faces, and then promptly informing us that they were closing for the night. I suppose that's our cue. It's not like we don't have classes tomorrow, anyway, and I have a tough one in the morning with a drill sergeant for a lecturer, so I'm mildly relieved when Sam dismisses us straight after.

"Hang on, Mike."

Or not.

Trying not to groan in protest, I turn to face my team leader while the others begin piling up in their cars.

"Yes, Sam?" I huff, and it's unintentional, I swear.

Quinn catches it, probably senses my inner partial despair, and giggles with a tiny shake of her head. Sam glances inquisitively over at her, but her only response is to lightly sock him on the shoulder. He blinks, and then clears his throat before looking to me again.

"Do you think we'll be able to get in touch with a curator tomorrow, and maybe also a property lawyer to verify our findings?" he asks, the slight anxiousness in his voice. "I mean, I really want to smoothen out the edges and be able to close this chapter as soon as possible."

I nod, understanding his concerns, because frankly, if I've just discovered that my family had been secretly owning a piece of property that had been bought over by the family of the guy who had intentionally harmed my great-grandparents, I'd be running all over the country setting things straight too. Heck, my dad would probably hire some Chinese Mafia or something to get that shit done; send the Triads after the Camdens and stuff, so despite the exhaustion from a long day, I can't help cutting the guy some slack.

"I'll do my best, man," I tell him earnestly.

He slaps me on the back in gratitude. "You're a good person, Chang."

"Yeah, yeah," I snicker, rolling my eyes in a teasing manner. "You owe me."

"Oh, and also," he continues. "Do you think you can—"

"I think that can wait, Sam," Quinn cuts in, placing her hand on his bicep. "Let the poor guy go to bed, okay?"

Hallelujah, Quinn.

His green eyes widen, as though it just occurred to him, and his face flushes sheepishly. Carding his fingers through his hair, Sam chuckled. "Sorry, I just—you know—"

"Don't sweat it, dude," I say, saving him the embarrassment and gives Quinn a grateful wink. "See you two lovebirds tomorrow."

"Drive safe, Mike," she grins, returning the sentiment with a wave of her hand.

Walking back to the car, where Artie is already seated and waiting for me, I can distinctly hear a yelp, and then followed by a quiet girlish squeal of Quinn Fabray.

"No, stop it. Let me go, Sam."

Artie greets me with a smirk as I slide into the driver's side. "Those two are so obnoxiously in love, aren't they?" he remarks, gesturing towards the blonde couple.

Sam has his arms around Quinn, picking her up and spinning her around like two adorable teenagers in one of those Nicholas Sparks movies that Rachel secretly loves but denies watching because of all the clichés.

"Don't get me started."

* * *

><p><strong>Sunday, 11.10pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

We're tripping over our own feet in the darkness, trying and failing to be as discreet as possible, but each creak, each step echoes like a firing canon in the living room, and Quinn shushes me when a chuckle bubbles in my throat. She gives my hand a squeeze and tugs me towards her bedroom. The doorknob rattles as she twists it open, and then she's shoving me inside.

Before I have a chance to regain my bearings, she has me pinned to the wall, her palms flat on my chest, and then I feel her soft, plump lips pressed onto mine in a mind-blowing kiss for the ages that sends every semblance of thought scattering through space.

My fingers automatically latch onto her waist to pull her closer, but then her sweet tongue darts out, and she does that thing where she curls it and swipes through the roof of my mouth, and it's driving me absolutely crazy. With a growl, I grab onto the hem of her top, but she stops me just before I can lift it up to do so herself. Shamelessly ogling her now, I watch as she gives a coquettish grin and reaches behind her to release the clasp of her bra.

"You're going to be the death of me, Quinn Fabray," I mutter under my breath, barely coherent, and at the sight of her gorgeous mounds, I spin her around so that she's now the one trapped.

She gazes heatedly up at me through her long lashes for a moment, her eyes dangerous and full of lecherous promises, and God forbid if I don't self-combust from this.

"Not a bad way to die, don't you think?" she purrs, carding her fingers through my hair.

"Touché."

I seize her lips once more, slamming her back against the wall.

And then there's a loud pounding coming from the other side.

"The fuck, you two," Santana's voice filters through, agitated and pissed off. "It's bad enough that I have to listen to you sex-heads stampeding into the apartment, but I seriously don't need a commentary and soundtrack to your love-making, so would you please take it to the fucking bed instead of humping it out against the fucking wall?"

My girlfriend promptly bursts into a round of laughter—a full-out belly guffaw that makes her beautiful hazel eyes squint and her nose crinkle, and she's adorable, really—and braces herself against my chest. Her amusement is infectious, and before I know it, I'm doubling over as well.

"Oh, my fucking God, really?" Santana yells. "Just shut the hell up, already."

"Sorry, sorry," Quinn gasps out breathlessly. "We'll try to be quiet."

"Whatever," the Latina spits back in reply, and I can almost imagine the scowl on her face.

Quinn slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle the rest of her giggles as her shoulders shake with the effort, and I reckon it's good enough of a distraction to lift her up by the back of her legs. She squeals momentarily, and then seems to remember the wrath of her roommate and instead tucks her nose into the juncture of my neck as I navigate my way over to her bed.

"Do we really have to be quiet?" I ask, setting her down on the mattress.

"Well, I know of a few ways I can shut you up," she replies, her tongue poking seductively from between her lips.

"Is that a pick-up line, Quinn Fabray?"

"Depends on how—"

"I can still fucking hear you!"

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 12.25pm<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

I hate walking and texting at the same time—I never believe it to be a good habit—but my professor was being a grumpy old man and wouldn't stop droning on about the fishing trip he had during the weekend, and now I'm incredibly late in meeting the others. The courtyard is buzzing with students, and I'm trying hard not to bump into anybody—hygiene purposes and all—but then I hear someone calling out to me.

"Rachel! Rachel!"

Halting in my stride, I turn around to see Brittany S. Pierce running towards me, her arms flailing wildly in the air.

"Hi," she beams, just positively radiant.

"Hello to you, Brittany," I greet her politely with a smile that probably pales in comparison to hers. "How can I help you?"

And just like that, her grin falls into a frown, and to my horror, her lips start quivering as tears begin pooling in her eyes. Oh, my God, is she going to start crying right here in the middle of the busiest pathway in all of campus? Alarmed at the prospect, I grab her wrist and pull her over to a corner with a bench, seating her down.

"What's wrong?" I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Did something happen?"

She sniffles, and I dig up a pack of tissue paper from inside my tote bag to hand it to her.

"She's gone," Brittany whimpers, and it sounds so sad even though I have absolutely no idea whom she's referring to. "I—I—she's gone."

"Who's gone?"

"Candice," she cries out, sobbing now. "She's gone and I can't find her anywhere. I keep calling out for her, you know, maybe she just got lost because she's just a little girl after all, or maybe she followed some bad guy home, and I need your help to find her—"

"Okay, okay, slow down," I tell her calmly because somebody has to be the voice of reason. "What do you mean Candice is gone?"

She fixes me with a glare. "How many other ways are there to mean it?"

Fair enough.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Brittany considers it for a moment. "Last Thursday."

I nod patiently, recalling the events of the day for clues. "What was the last thing she said to you?"

"She said 'thank you', and that was it."

"Well, maybe she—"

"And now I have this other girl following me around wanting to play hide-and-seek, but I keep telling her that she'd have to wait until class ends, or when I'm done with my assignments, and she's a little bit freaky, but she doesn't really—"

"Hang on," I interrupt, my brow scrunching together in confusion. "What other girl?"

"Her name is Elizabeth, Rachel, please keep up," she huffs, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and I try not to get too offended by that. "She's seven and—oh, why am I talking to you about this? Do you know where Quinn is?"

Of course.

Trying my best not to sound too irritated, I nod and reply, "yes, and I'm actually on the way over—"

"Great!" she chirps enthusiastically. "Let's go!"

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 12.40pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

We're in the middle of sorting out possible contacts when Rachel arrives with Brittany in tow, and before any of us can even greet them, the blonde is rushing across the room and flinging herself at one Quinn Fabray, leaving the rest of us dazed and speechless. I turn to Sam, who seems rather amused by Brittany's antics, before quirking an eyebrow inquisitively at Rachel.

"Brittany," Quinn laughs. "Nice to see you, but what are you—wait, who's that?" she asks, glancing over the other girl's shoulder towards the door. Every single person turns in that direction, and of course, there's nobody there.

Tilting her head, a warm smile spreads across Quinn's face and she lifts a hand up, wriggling her fingers. "Hello, there. What's your name?"

"Elizabeth," Brittany whispers not so discreetly. "She's been following me around, actually, and I can't seem to find Candice anywhere. Can you help me, Quinn?"

"Candice is gone?"

"Wait, what?" Sam blurts out. "What do you mean?"

Brittany gives an exasperated sigh, as though she's reciting poetry to an idiot. "Why does everybody ask me that? I can't find Candice; she just disappeared."

I notice how Quinn visibly swallows, and then she gazes down at the floor for a second. "What was the last thing she said to you?"

"She said 'thank you'."

There's a pregnant pause. Nobody seem to move a single muscle as we wait with bated breaths, and it feels like an epic love story, though I'm not sure why. I don't have a single idea what the hell is going on, but by the glazed look in Quinn's hazel eyes, I know that something big has happened. A bittersweet smile plays upon her lips, the corners twitching upwards as she inhaled a lungful of air.

"Her job is done," she declares, albeit shakily. "She's done what she has to do; she's free."

"You mean, Candice has gone home?" Brittany asks quietly.

"I'd like to think so," Quinn answers her, hopeful and happy.

"That's great, right?"

My teammate nods wordlessly, and then in a flurry of blonde, Brittany lets out a squeal and launches herself once again into Quinn's arms, and it finally dawns on me what's going on. I hear Sam chuckling and rubbing his eyes, but there's still something left unsolved.

"Who's Elizabeth?"

"Oh, she's this seven-year-old who's following me around now," Brittany explains nonchalantly, as though ghost children haunting her is an everyday occurrence. Then again, it probably is. She's like a paranormal magnet; it's interesting, really. "Loves playing hide-and-seek, and has a fascination with my bedside lamp. She keeps turning it on and off in the middle of the night, and steals my licorice sticks when I'm not looking."

"Cheeky," I mutter.

She points a finger at me, nodding exuberantly. "Right?"

"What does she want?" Rachel asks.

"She's just lonely, I think," Brittany answers her. "Oh, well, I guess that's that. I should get going." She leans in to give Quinn one last hug. "Thank you, Quinn."

"You're welcome."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 1.05pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"Well, that was…interesting," Finn remarks after Brittany leaves. "I mean, we all know the theory that spirits or ghosts haunt places and people because of unfinished business, but this is fascinating, isn't it? The fact that Wayne Hunters and Candice sort of disappears after we've cracked the mystery, it's blowing my mind."

Sometimes it's hard to remember that Finn holds a spot in the team because he brings a different perspective to the plate, but then he gets these strokes of genius that's deep and insightful, and you can't help but be proud of him. It's his finest redeeming quality.

"Is it true, though, Q?" I turn to my girlfriend. "About Candice?"

Her rosy lips twitch up in a smile. "Remember when I couldn't feel Wayne Hunters' presence seconds before we found the box? There isn't any unfinished business anymore, and it goes for Candice as well. She's gone home."

"Home?"

"Figuratively speaking, of course."

We settle into a round of silence, taking the moment to process the information.

Honestly, I haven't had the time to ponder much on Wayne Hunters, or the fact that the dreams have stopped because it's been one hell of a roller coaster ride, but now that it's all powering down and we're left with a bow to tie at the end, I'm able to fully comprehend the events that have followed in the past weeks. It's slowly starting to sink in, and a part of me is glad that this is over and that something surprising came out of it, but there's always going to be a small sense of attachment. I might not know them—Wayne, Roseanne, Violet, Ralph, Candice—but they're family.

Sensing my inner turmoil, Quinn sidles over and laces her fingers through mine, giving them a comforting squeeze.

"They're going to be okay," she whispers.

I drop a chaste kiss to the top of her hair.

"I know."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 3.30pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

"Alright, thank you for your time," I say into the receiver before hanging up the phone. Quickly scribbling the details down on my notepad, I turn to Sam with my recent updates. "So I've just talked to a local Historian. His name is Henri St. Pierre and he'll be able to meet with us tomorrow afternoon. He seems really interested, especially since he's actually heard of the Roseanne House."

"That's great," my team leader nods, pausing from his task on the computer. "What about the property lawyer? Anything on that?"

I shake my head regretfully. "I've dropped a couple of e-mails and left several messages but he hasn't replied once, so we'll have to wait that out. How's the enhancing coming along?"

He leans back in his swivel chair to inspect the zoomed-in image on screen. "Not much, I'm afraid. We need to do some serious preservation on this, like seriously, we're talking about the technology for Vatican archives stuff. The pigments for the ink used has faded so much, I'm unable to make anything out even after increasing the contrast."

"Have you tried applying a few filters on it?" I suggest.

"Of course I have. Overlay, multiply, soft light, hard light; I've tried them all. Nothing helped," he huffs in exasperation. Throwing his hands up in surrender, he adds, "I've gone through all the stuff that Tina and Quinn have transcribed, but there's only so much they could do, you know? There are still missing parts."

Taking a deep breath, I pick up an article that's on the table—properly sealed in an airtight zip-lock holder—and squint at it for what seems like the thousandth time. There really isn't much left to decipher—the girls have done their best—and I suppose the only thing left to do is to leave the rest up to the professionals. We're only paranormal investigators, after all, and for past cases, we had indeed consulted a couple of specialists for advice and stuff when things get a bit too complicated.

"We'll just have to show Henri all of these documents, and hopefully he'll be able to identify some of them for us to verify that these are legit. From there, I'm sure he'll be able to better explain things, you know, tell us how the systems used to work in that period of time," I say.

Sam heaves a long sigh and swipes a hand down his face. "I guess."

I regard him for a moment, seeing the evidence of the entire week on his tired features. "Tell you what, Sam. There really isn't much you can do now. Why don't you take a break, ask Quinn out on a proper date or something? You look like you can use an evening off from all the stress."

He considers it for a moment, and then another sigh escapes his lips.

"Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Mike."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 5.15pm<strong>

**/Finn Hudson**

"What would you call her?"

Rachel lifts her gaze from the textbook and cocks an eyebrow at my sudden random question. She frowns, trying to figure out what I had meant while I take a bite off my ham and egg sandwich.

"Call whom?" she asks, the irritation creeping in her voice.

"Brittany," I answer through a mouthful of food, unintentionally sending bits spraying on the table. Her face scrunches up in disgust and she effectively shifts her book away from my line of fire. Rolling my eyeballs, I take a huge gulp of my soda, and once I'm not otherwise preoccupied chewing and swallowing, I continue with my earlier sentence. "Well, you know how Quinn is a Psychic/Empath with Clairsentient abilities, but what does that make Brittany? What kind of person is she?"

Rachel sets her book down and this time she looks rather thoughtful. "I suppose you can consider her a Psychic Medium as well; their abilities are rather similar. They can both see and communicate with entities that are not visible to our naked eyes, though I'm not sure what's the extent for Brittany."

"Are you referring to the Jean Grey stuff that Quinn can do?"

The brunette sitting in front of me makes a sort of agitated noise. "Jean Grey is telepathic and telekinetic, not paranormally psychic."

Sometimes I just hate the fact that she's such a show-off know-it-all. What does she know about The X-Men anyway? I have an entire graphic novel collection lining my shelves, so I'm sure I bloody well know what kind of abilities my favorite mutant possesses.

"Whatever," I sniff. "That's besides the point, anyway. What if Brittany is just like Quinn?"

Rachel shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Well that's just convenient, isn't it? Two psychics in the team; what are we, ghost whisperers?" she retorts sarcastically.

Hit a sore spot there, haven't I?

"Ghost whisperer," I mull over, stroking the underside of my jaw. "That actually sounds a little stupid, don't you think?"

She glares at me, then. "It's the name of a TV show, you idiot."

"There's such a show?"

It's now her turn to roll her eyes—of course, with dramatic flare and theatrical exaggeration—and proceeds to continue with her reading.

"Wouldn't it be great, though, if she joined the group?"

Rachel sets her textbook down with a loud thump and doesn't even bother to disguise her scowl. "For crying out loud, Finn—"

"I think it'll be an awesome idea," I say, grinning at the prospect. I mean, for all instances, Brittany is kind of hot, in that freaky paranormal way. "Can you imagine, going into a house and just sending in Quinn and Brittany to see if it's haunted or not, set them up with equipment; it'll be a whole lot easier for the rest of us—"

"Let me stop you right there," Rachel cuts in curtly. "First of all, we're a group of paranormal investigators based on science and hard evidences to prove paranormal entities, which was why allowing Quinn to stay had been a bad idea—"

"Aha!" I counter. "Had been; that's the operative word. She's clearly a very treasured member of the team now."

"Sure, fine," Rachel concedes momentarily. "But her abilities does not validate anything for us; no solid proof for our clients. We deal with skeptics and people who want to see to believe something; Quinn's words aren't going to mean a thing during reveals."

"Whoa," I remark, raising my hands in surrender. "Don't need to get touchy about it, Rach. I get it, and I know perfectly well what the team does, and I haven't forgotten about anything, I promise. I just feel that Quinn's abilities give the team a new perspective to the paranormal world, don't you?"

She pauses for what seems like the longest time—by her standards, anyway—and I'm about to take another bite of my sandwich when she opens her mouth and sucks in a deep breath as her fingers curl into two fists. Shit, I know that reaction.

"Look, Rach—"

"No, you're right, Finn," she tells me. "I've been trying to ignore it, but you're right. Still, it doesn't mean we change the way we are in order to accommodate to her—"

"Okay, who said anything about changing?" I counterclaim, now slightly peeved that a smart girl like herself isn't getting the point here, and I'm supposed to be the dimwit in the group. She can be as shallow as they come. "Sam has made it clear that Quinn's involvement with our cases isn't going to affect anything. He kept her on a short probation during one of our investigation—made her stay at central command and keep a lookout from there—and apart from this whole Camden House debacle, she's been really insightful on a lot of stuff."

"Hang on, weren't we talking about Brittany?"

Seriously?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** LOL! So I've added in a bit of everything in this chapter. There's the Fabrevans scene—though not as explicit—and Santana totally raining on their parade; so typical of her. And then there's Brittany and how she might or might not hold a future in Project Paranormal, and to top it off, a Finn and Rachel interaction that's always a hoot to write! Not much now; just tying up loose ends for Sam and the team. There's going to be some nice Fabrevans moments in the next chapter, so tune in for that!

**Agronaut13:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, and I hope you've enjoyed this update as well! Cheers!

**NileyOvergron:** Hello there! I remember you! Thank you so much for continuing to read and leave wonderful reviews! Every time I get a notification, it makes me warm inside because I know that I'm not alone in still shipping Sam and Quinn together! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! I've added the Fabrevans sexy time, though not as explicit as before, but I hope it still suffices! Cheers!

**Mandorac:** Hi! Thank you so much for continually supporting this story and taking time out to read and review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked Finn! He's one of my favorite characters to write about, actually, because he's just comical just by being him. It's nice to know that you found the Fabrevans scene touching, with them being able to witness Wayne Hunters proposing to Roseanne :D I'll always continue sharing as long as there are people to share them with! Hope you've enjoyed this chapter! Cheers!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! As always, thank you so much for devoting time to read and review my story! I really do appreciate it! There aren't any scary scenes in this chapter as well—probably won't be from here on—because I'm just left tying up loose ends before this story comes to a close. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Nightowl:** Hello there! Thank you so much for dropping by and reading and leaving a review! Hope you had a wonderful Christmas and a great New Year as well! I miss Fabrevans dearly, and being able to watch Dianna and Chord together week after week, which is probably why I turn to fanfiction to escape and indulge :D

**Guest:** Hi there! Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter! The Fabrevans sexy time isn't as explicit in this one, but between the both of us, I'm saving it for the next chapter :P

**OhHeyAl:** Hello! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a wonderful review! I really appreciate it! I agree, totally; it has definitely been one hell of a ride writing this, and I've loved every moment of it! It's almost bittersweet knowing that there are only two more chapters left, and a sequel does sound nice, honestly, and hopefully one day I'll have an inspiration to work on it! A great New Year to you too! Cheers!

**SO LAZY:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! Seriously, I don't think you're lazy at all, especially since you've obviously spent time and effort into writing to me! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you enjoyed Finn's character! He is so much fun to write because he has so much comedic potential; him and Santana, and Brittany actually. Yeah, so I'll be getting back into gear for The Housemate Agreement once this story is done, so I'm kind of excited for that! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N: **The chapter before the last chapter!

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 49**

**Monday, 6.10pm**

**/Sam Evans**

Taking Mike's advice—'cause the dude is usually right, anyway—I've gone back for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Blaine was home and he had suggested I surprise my girlfriend with some flowers, which is how I'm finding myself standing in front of Quinn's door with a bouquet of peonies—roses are too hardcore for me—in one hand.

After smoothing down the imaginary wrinkles on my shirt—and drying my clammy palms—I square my shoulders, hide the flowers behind my back and inhale a deep breath, preparing to knock. Just as I raise my fist, however, the door swings open to reveal a slightly-disheveled looking Santana Lopez. Her eyes narrow to slits as she regards me suspiciously from head to toe.

"What is it, Guppy Face?" she barks.

Are we back to the inappropriate names, then?

"Hello to you too, Santana," I reply as civilly as possible. "Is—"

She doesn't even allow me to finish what I need to say before turning around to yell into the apartment. "Fine; you win, Quinn," she spits out bitterly. "Damn Psychic."

There's a distinct giggle coming from inside and a moment later, her blonde head pokes out, tongue between her teeth. "Hey, Sam," she beams. "What a nice surprise."

Santana pairs her scoff with an exaggerated puking gesture and then saunters away. Leaning against the doorframe, Quinn folds her arms across her chest and gives me a languid once-over. A wave of manly pride crashes through me when I see the twinkle of approval in her gorgeous hazel eyes.

"What was that about?" I ask, referring to Santana's previous statement.

Quinn chuckles in amusement. "She made a bet, and she lost."

I smirk at that amateur mistake.

"You look nice," she comments, her tone teasing and playful. "What's the occasion?"

Without saying a word, I pull the bouquet out from behind and hold it out towards her. Her smile widens that much more, her face simply glowing with radiance as she accepts it, and for that short moment, I'm glad that I've had enough wit to listen to Blaine—cheesiness, clichés and all—because this is what makes the eight bucks totally worth it.

"It's beautiful," she whispers. "Thank you, Sam."

"Will you go out with me?"

Her head tilts a little in confusion. "I thought we already are."

"I mean, now," I clarify, making my intention clear to her, but when I see the corner of her lips twitch, I know that she's just messing with me. "For dinner; a date, just the two of us. With all the craziness happening lately, we couldn't exactly do things the conventional way—"

"And here I thought I'd have to resort to some very extreme measures before that happens," she drawls.

"So, is that a yes?"

"Yes!" Santana interrupts instead. "That's a yes. Please, spare me the torture and just go."

Quinn gives a shrug. "She did say 'please', so I suppose we'll just cut her some slack tonight, yeah?"

"Of course," I reply, snickering.

"Let me go get dressed, then."

Half an hour later, we're seated in a nice private little booth at the back corner of a quaint diner. It's a bit of a distance from campus so I've decided to drive us there; but it's not like I'm going to make Quinn walk, especially when she's wearing that cute pair of boots with those high heels. She looks stunning, obviously, and it's getting more difficult not to glare at every dude who remotely even glances her way.

"So, what's good here?" she inquires without lifting her eyes from the menu.

Good question.

Her eyebrow springs up when she catches my stray thoughts. "You've never been here before, have you?"

My face grows hot. "Is it that obvious?"

"I think it's cute."

I glance up at her, then, grinning like an absolute idiot. "Really?"

She nods, and we spend the next couple of seconds just staring at each other until a waitress saunters over and politely clears her throat. After squinting down at the menu for a moment, I decide to go with the Bolognese; nothing too fancy or flashy, and certainly nothing that might cause some pretty embarrassing situations. Quinn goes for the classic grilled salmon with a side of salad, and when the server leaves, I start fidgeting with the silverware on the table.

"I would think we'd be past that nervous stage of a second date by now," she teases.

A chuckle escapes my lips. "I don't think I'll ever get past it."

She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "You do realize we share a bed on occasion, and that we've seen each other naked, right?"

The image pops into my head, and with it comes a fresh round of heat that rushes down south where it's completely inappropriate in a family restaurant. I seriously hope that the dude sitting at the next table with his wife and six-year-old daughter doesn't realize I'm sporting a massive boner while they're consuming dinner. God, that would be incredibly humiliating—not to mention worthy of an arrest. I feel a pointed kick to my shin as Quinn tries to hide her smirk behind a half-hearted glare.

"Sorry," I murmur, shifting in my seat because my pants are sort of uncomfortable now. Clearing my throat, I dart my eyes around in search of a signage and try to seem as inconspicuous as possible. "I think I just need the…"

I trail off, but she gets the hint and gives a dismissive wave just as the waitress returns with two glasses of soda. She barely bats an eyelash when I shrink back into the seat, but the instant she turns, I'm bolting for the restroom. Fucking hell, why am I being such a hormonally imbalanced teenager? I might as well be sprouting acne right about now with how I'm splashing water on my face and hiding in the cubicle to calm myself down. Nothing works, though. I hop around, think of a million gross things, even attempt to recite every element on the periodic table, but my little soldier is still standing at attention.

Crap.

The door creaks.

My breath stills as I brace my hands on the walls.

There are footsteps of someone entering, light and tentative, and I seriously hope that it's not the dad from the next table.

A twist of the lock; followed by a telltale click.

Shit.

And then there's a knock, and my eyes widen in panic.

"Sam?"

I fumble with the catch, and when it swings open, I'm met with a very amused Quinn Fabray leaning against the sink, a smug expression on her graceful features.

"What are you doing in here?" I hiss, stealing quick, frantic peeks into the other stalls to make sure that there aren't any other occupants in the men's toilet.

"Do you need any help with that?" she asks bluntly, eyeing the bulge still evident in my pants.

Unsure of how to answer her without sounding too crude about it—which is ridiculous on its own because she's probably heard about an entire dictionary of lewd swearing and what not during our previous sexual endeavors—but we're in the restroom of a restaurant, for fuck's sake.

Damn, probably shouldn't have used 'fuck'.

Her hazel eyes glint with newfound mischief, and then she's stalking almost predatorily towards me, so close that her chest grazes the fabric of my shirt. Shakily, I suck in a mouthful of air, and when she deliberately places her hands on my chest, warm and steady, I'm almost certain that she can feel the rapid beating of my heart beneath her palms. She glances up at me through her long lashes, her teeth catching on her bottom lip, and raises herself slightly on the tips of her toes to give me a lingering kiss. It's soft and stimulating, and I'm tingling everywhere before instinct takes over and I'm grabbing onto her waist and lifting her up on ledge, enthusiastically returning her sentiments with my own.

She gasps, and then mumbles something incoherent about the cold tiles, but I'm way too busy nipping and sucking on that sweet spot behind her ear to reply. My fingers trace the outer seam of her skirt, bunching the fabric over her legs until my knuckles are grazing her inner thighs. Somewhere in the haziness, she gives my head a sharp tug and we're back to the ardent snogging. It's sloppy and urgent, and I don't think we've ever reached such heights before—considering what we're doing in a public restroom—and the thrill of it all, accompanied by unforgiving libidos, is enough to do me in till new year.

"Sam…" she groans, shifting in her position, and the friction it creates sends a bullet of desire shooting down where I'm already so stiff that it's starting to ache.

Clumsily, I flounder with the clasp of my trousers, and the zip is barely halfway down before she's impatiently tugging at my boxers and I'm all but standing half-naked, the denim pooling at my ankles, just staring at her.

"Really, Sam?" she hisses. "Of all the time to—"

I cut her off, then, diving in to seize her swollen lips. Tongues plunging and probing, we stumble back into the rhythm of the tango. Growling against her mouth, I reach for the top of her cotton underwear and unceremoniously drag it down the length of her legs, carelessly tossing it aside. She scoots closer to the edge, her moist heat bumping into the tip of my manhood, and damn, it's never going to be enough.

"You ready?" I ask; hands splayed across her lower back.

She arches an eyebrow, and as my face splits into a grin, I thrust into her in one smooth stroke. The sound that rolls out of her is pure orchestra—a cross between a gasp, a whimper and a sigh—and would it be totally creepy of me to want to record it for future playback when I'm in bed all alone?

"Sam!"

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 9.45pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

I'm watching old reruns of my favorite TV show on the couch with a bowl of nachos on my lap when I heard a light tapping sound coming from somewhere inside my room. Puck isn't home—he has this stupid party he had wanted to crash despite it being a school night—and automatically, the investigative side of me takes over.

The first step is to identify the sound.

Reaching for the remote, I mute the volume of the television and listen.

It comes in sets of threes, pausing for exactly three seconds between intervals. There's nothing forceful or malicious behind the sound; if anything, it is rather polite, as though someone wants to get my attention or enter my room. It could very well be anybody from the building who's locked out or whatever.

Except that I live on the third floor.

And there aren't any trees outside my window.

Huh.

"Hello?" I call out, in case it really is some dumb person trying to climb in. "Who's in there?"

The tapping stops.

I listen for movement, but I'm only met with silence.

"Can you do that sound again?"

Nothing happens for a few seconds.

And then, very softly, I hear the triple taps.

Alright, now I'm intrigued.

The door is ajar, and as quietly as possible, I head into the room. Nothing seems amiss; the window is shut, the curtains are drawn back, and when I cross the space to peer out at the campus grounds, I don't see anybody lurking or loitering downstairs. The sky is clear and all; doesn't seem to be raining or hailing, or even particularly windy.

Still, I know what I heard; I'm a paranormal investigator for goodness sake.

Spying my cellphone on my desk, I reach for it and set it on record mode.

Time for an EVP session.

"Is there somebody in here with me?" I ask, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "Did you make that tapping sound?"

Nothing.

"Can you do it again, please?"

For the longest moment, I don't get a response, and I reckon it's just a false alarm. Deciding that it's probably nothing paranormal—a fluke in the weather at best—I make to stand up and leave.

But then it happens.

Three staccato taps.

Okay.

Well…

"One more time for confirmation, please."

Instantly, I get the response I wanted.

There is no mistaking it right now; the tapping sounds are coming from outside, but that's just impossible. Taking a few tentative steps forward, I reach down for the latch on the window before heaving it up. The cool gust of wind that brushes against my skin is a contrast to the warm night, and as I stick my head out to debunk all that I had just encountered, searching for a string—perhaps someone is trying to mess with me or whatever—I realize that there isn't a single explanation to the triple taps.

I can't exactly call it a paranormal occurrence without concrete evidence of sorts, but then I remember that my cellphone is still recording. After a quick rewind, I plug in a set of headphones to properly listen. My own voice rings back in my ears—the phone capturing the triple taps—but other than that, it's relatively quiet.

Until I hear a small giggle.

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 10.20pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Quinn and I are cuddled up in bed watching a movie on my laptop when the shrill ringing of my cellphone interrupts the gruesome scene that's unfolding. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I snatch the device from the bedside table, and after glancing at the name flashing on the screen, I hit the pause on the computer to answer it.

"It's Mike," I inform her. She nods and sits up so that I can properly take the call. "What's up, Mike?" I speak into the receiver.

"Hey, Sam," he replies, and the solemnness in his tone grabs my attention. "I—Something happened to me a while ago, and I'd like you to come over. There's something I need you to listen to."

I toss the duvet aside, swinging my legs over. "Are you okay?"

He pauses for a moment. "Yeah, I'm fine, but—is Quinn there with you?"

"Yeah, she is," I say, turning to face her while she's regarding me curiously. "Why? Is something—did something paranormal happen?"

Mike hesitates once again. "Just come over, Samuel."

He hangs up right after, and I take a couple of seconds just staring at my cellphone, trying to figure out his weird behavior, and then I feel Quinn's hand run up the expanse of my back to settle on my shoulders. She gives a comforting squeeze and I tilt my head to face her.

"Is Mike alright?" she asks, the concern written all over her features.

I shrug. "I think so. He wants us to come over."

It doesn't take long before we're dressed and heading for Mike's dorm. He doesn't live that far away so Quinn and I decide it's best to just walk and save all that gas from driving the car. Besides, it's a nice night out, anyway; breezy and warm, and speed-walking hand-in-hand with this amazing girl beside me, it's definitely not a bad thing. Ten minutes later, we're climbing up the stairs and knocking on the door to Mike's apartment.

"Hey, guys," he greets, breathless and slightly frazzled, and lets us in. "Thank you for coming over."

Quinn tentatively crosses the threshold, her eyes actively darting around, sensing the room, but she doesn't seem uncomfortable or bothered by anything.

"No problem, man. You okay?"

He nods, takes a deep breath and swipes a hand down his face. "Alright, so something happened earlier that I can't explain. I was sitting here, watching TV when all of a sudden I started hearing these tapping noises coming from inside my room. I thought it was a person, you know—maybe Puck was throwing stones on the window again—but when I went to check it out, nobody was downstairs. So, of course, I thought it was a coincidence or a trick of the wind, but then it happened again, and then it started happening on command."

"Wait, hang on," I cut in. "Happening on command? You did an EVP session?"

Silently, he pulls his cellphone out from the pocket of his pants and begins playing his earlier recording. Mike is a thorough investigator and a logical-thinker, and he has great gut instincts, so whatever he has in the clip, it must be something huge to trigger him this way because if there is one thing that irks him, it is not knowing what's happening.

The triple taps are clear on the recording, and then I hear a sound that sends a chill running down my spine.

"Was that a giggle?" Quinn murmurs.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, sounds like a little girl, too—"

Her head snaps up then, eyes wide, and she's glancing towards Mike's room.

"Elizabeth?"

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 11.05pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

Elizabeth?

As in that seven-year-old girl that's been following Brittany around?

That Elizabeth?

"Wait—what?" Sam blurts out, brows furrowing. "Why is—"

Quinn holds her hand up to shush him, and after a moment, she turns to face me. "She said you opened the window for her?"

"Well, I didn't know it was for her, technically, so, hang on," I stop short, nose scrunching in confusion. "Entities don't fly or float, do they? I mean, I live on the third floor. How could she have tapped outside the window?"

And then there's that uncanny giggle again.

Exactly like the one from the recording.

"It's a party trick," Quinn chuckles with a playful wink. "Oh, honey, why aren't you with Brittany? Did you lose her?"

Sam and I just sit and watch this one-sided conversation, and even though I've never really seen her directly interacting with entities or spirits before, I don't particularly find it weird or stuff like that. On the contrary, I find it rather fascinating. Quinn grows slightly sympathetic in her responses, and I'm itching to know why of all people, this little girl had come to me.

"Elizabeth had wanted to play, but Brittany wasn't free, so she had actually asked Elizabeth to come find you, Mike. She said you were the friendliest one of the team," she explains, a teasing grin spread across her lips.

That doesn't make much sense.

"Problem is, I can't see her."

Quinn laughs in reply. "Yeah, she might have let that bit of detail slip."

"So what do we do now?" Sam interjects, rubbing his palms together. "I mean, does she still want us to play with her?"

"We'll just call Brittany," Quinn says. "Elizabeth is not exactly a free-roaming spirit. She needs to be attached to somebody, and she's been away from Brittany for some time now, it might hurt her if she's gone for too long."

I'm sure Sam and I are wearing identical baffled expressions.

"Hurt her?" I parrot, sounding a bit like an idiot, and I kind of hate it.

"Different entities communicate differently," Quinn goes on to elaborate. "But entities such as Candice and Elizabeth needs a medium, like a person, to communicate through. Without an attachment, they sort of lose their sense of purpose; they'll forget."

"But hurting her," Sam repeats, enunciating each syllable. "Like, would she be in pain?"

"An attachment is a psychic bond. It's how I'm able to see her, but she's not attached to me, and therefore she's unable to be with me. Candice was different. She needed Brittany to guide her to me, but that doesn't mean she is fully bonded to Brittany. It's not a one-way thing. If she were fully bonded to Brittany, it would hurt them both when Candice is gone. To cut a psychic mental link isn't easy, and it takes a part of you with it."

This is wrinkling my brains.

Holy shit.

"So why is Elizabeth bonded to Brittany?" I wonder out loud.

"Because she's a scared little seven-year-old who's just lost her mom."

* * *

><p><strong>Monday, 11.40pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

"We need to help her," Quinn whispers almost inaudibly.

I blink, trying to register her words because we've been sitting in silence for a good ten minutes since Brittany left. "Who?"

"Elizabeth."

From the couch, Mike leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "How do we do that?"

She shakes her head and releases a frustrated huff. "She's not going to talk to any of us about anything. I think the only person who can is Brittany."

"Is it the psychic bond thing?" I ask.

"Could be, or perhaps she just doesn't feel comfortable enough to talk to me about it. Either way, we need Brittany in order to help Elizabeth."

"We've stumbled across another case, then," Mike says, stating it more as a fact than a question because it's already pretty clear what this situation is.

"I believe we have."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So! One more chapter to go, and this story will be wrapped up! I know I've set things up for a possible sequel—what with this new case with Elizabeth—and we'll definitely be able to come to a conclusion on Sam's mystery in the next update, but I haven't really planned on a continuation. Perhaps, down the road, I might get an inspiration for it, but not at the moment. When this is done, I'm focusing right back on The Housemate Agreement. This story is one of those that could go on and on, because they're paranormal investigators, and hauntings don't just stop because the story does, but I promise I won't leave an ugly cliffhanger at the end.

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked Santana and that she's always such a fun character to write! I'm also glad that you liked Brittany, and I can't tell you so much about Elizabeth because I'm just setting up the parameters of a possible new case. I don't want to delve into it, especially since I'm closing the story. I hope you've enjoyed the Fabrevans scenes in this update. It's all steamy and naughty, and I just wanted to have one last good bang in the story before it wraps up. Cheers!

**Agronaut13:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous update, and I hope you've enjoyed this one as well, especially with that Fabrevans scene at the beginning! Cheers!

**NileyOvergron:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a lovely review! I always appreciate it! Yeah, sometimes it's just good to rant about how Fabrevans had been mistreated—especially for lame reasons and excuses made by the show's writers—and then we just drown our sorrows by creating better situations for our favorite pairings through fanfiction. I suppose I'm not as bitter as I use to anymore, but it still stings, doesn't it? Thank you so much for the lovely comments, and I'm really flattered! Hope you've enjoyed this update and the Fabrevans raunchiness! Cheers!

**Nicole:** Hello there! How are you fairing my fellow Singaporean? Thank you so much for reading and constantly leaving reviews that never fails to make me smile! I'm glad you liked the Quinn/Brittany friendship in the previous chapter, and together with Artie, they can be like the super trio in the team :D I'm also glad that you liked the Finchel interactions, and that short stint with Santana and interrupting the Fabrevans sexy time. LOL! I love her, and I absolutely love writing her because her character just comes to naturally, it's like a reflex kind of thing. Yeah, I'm excited to lift the hiatus on THA and start writing for it full-time again! I have some ideas swimming in my head; things that I've penned down, jotted into my phone while I'm stoning in the train on the way to work, I can't wait! A very happy early Chinese New Year to you too, and to a great 2014! Cheers!

**Kera:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the previous updates, and yeah, Santana is always so much fun to write! Your request for the Fabrevans date has been granted, dear Kera, and I hope you've enjoyed the steaminess in the men's bathroom scene. Those two are so kinky! LOL! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**SO LAZY:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a nice review! So NOT lazy, by the way, LOL! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the scene with Santana and how she basically interrupted the Fabrevans sexy time! That was so much fun to write, and yes, I did get a bit sentimental over that and how it was back to those Unholy Trinity times. I'm really excited to start getting on board writing for The Housemate Agreement again, because I've had so many ideas swarming in that I've been jotting down on random, and I can't wait to put it together! Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!

**Burnthiscityxx:** Hi there! Oh, how I've missed you and your stories! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the previous chapter, and yeah, you're spot on with that. As I'm getting ready to wrap up Sam's mystery, I'm also setting up a mystery for a possible sequel. I don't have plans for it at the moment; it's just a cycle thing being in the paranormal investigation. Hauntings will still carry on even after I've finished this story. Hope you've enjoyed this update! Cheers!


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N: **After 2 years, here is the final installment of Whisper in my Ear.

Enjoy!

xXx

CeruleanBlues

* * *

><p><strong>Whisper in my Ear<strong>

**Chapter 50**

**Tuesday, 9.45am**

**/Mike Chang**

"You're my savior, Sam Evans," I tell him gratefully as he hands me a steaming to-go cup of coffee. The strong whiff of caffeine perks me up instantly, and after taking a well-deserved sip, I'm finally wide-awake.

"Rough night?" he remarks, a teasing smirk on his lips even though he's holding an identical beverage in his hold, and I can bet a hundred bucks that somewhere on the other end of campus, his girlfriend is too.

"Don't I know it," I grumble out a reply.

We had stayed up till the wee hours of the morning trying to figure out possibilities and the limited ways in which we can help Elizabeth with her situation, and by the time Sam and Quinn had left, the sun had begun rising. Of course, the first order of business is to inform the rest of the team. Agreeing on a new case involves everybody's approval, especially since we need to fully involve an outsider for it, and we don't have to go down that road again. Accepting Quinn had been shaky enough—all that unnecessary drama and what not—but it had been crucial, and honestly, she's been an amazing addition.

"I need a vacation," I mutter under my breath, but it's loud enough for Sam to hear as we head towards Social Sciences.

He chuckles and hoists his backpack higher up his shoulder. "Ditto on that."

"Maybe we could have a road trip, somewhere with lots of sun, sand and the sea," I sigh dreamily, picturing the surf and the girls in bikinis. So sue me; I'm a dude. There's nothing wrong with some harmless ogling and a good tan.

"Miami?"

I nod, still lost in that fantasy. "Absolutely."

"Yeah, we should," he agrees, a stupid grin on his face.

"You just want to see Quinn in a bikini," I snort, giving him a nudge.

He winks cheekily. "Would you blame me?"

"No," I snicker, shaking my head. "Not at all. You might need to blindfold Finn, though. He might hurt himself with a permanent boner."

His face contorts into a twist between a grimace and a loathsome scowl. "Don't even, Mike Chang. I swear to God—"

"Hi, guys!"

Brittany pops up from nowhere in a bundle of unreserved energy and blonde smiles. Startled by her sudden presence in my personal space, I let out a yelp as hot coffee spills down my wrist.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry," she rushes to apologize and then begins digging into her bag, retrieving a pack of tissue paper. She pulls out a piece and starts dabbing the stickiness on my skin. "I shouldn't have done that; I didn't mean to startle either of you and I—"

"It's fine, Brits, really," I reassure her, trying hard not to wince at the minor scalding. "I'm good; no worries."

"You called me 'Brits'," she points out, staring at me with wide eyes, and I wonder if I've said something wrong. My mouth opens in preparation for an apology, but she cuts in just then. "Nobody else has ever called me that but my mom."

With outmost uncertainty, Sam and I exchange quick glances, and the only thing he offers me is a half-hearted shrug, but then Brittany's face simply lights up, a glistening smile stretching across her lips, and suddenly, she launches forward and wraps me in a tight hug. The strength in this girl is phenomenal—I suppose she's had plenty of practice—and my ribcage is beginning to hurt. She's squeezing the life out of me, effectively cutting my oxygen supply.

"I like you, Mike Chang," she burbles.

"Yeah, okay," I wheeze out, forcefully prying her arms apart while simultaneously balancing the full cup in one hand. "That's nice."

"Are you in this class as well, Brittany?" Sam asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, no. I'm on my way to Creative Writing," she explains. "I just want to thank you guys for last night, and Quinn too. Elizabeth is still a little shaken up by it; said that she didn't like, but I told her that you'd always be there for her."

I blink, and in that instant, Brittany's expression does a one-eighty.

"I mean, you would, right?" she continues unevenly. "You're not going to leave her out to wander all alone. It took a lot for her to even find you last night, and she told me that it hurts, that if she can have it, she wouldn't want to do that ever again—"

"Of course," I cut her mid-rant because she seems like she's teetering on the brink of an emotional meltdown. "Elizabeth can drop by my place any time she wants to."

Relief sweeps through her entire person. "Thank you so much. Ever since she lost her mom, she hasn't really been with anybody else—"

"How did she lose her?" Sam asks. "I mean, they're both on the other side."

Brittany shakes her head, regret filling in her eyes. "I wish I knew, but she's not ready to tell me anything."

And then I'm blurting the words out before I can even catch myself.

"Maybe we can help."

Sam snaps his head to glare daggers at me. I suppose I'm being presumptuous, and we have yet to bring the matter up to the others, but there's nothing I can do about it now that it's out. It's not like I can turn back time and retract my statement. Giving my team leader an equivalent of an apologetic shrug with a pout, I turn to see Brittany regarding the both of us with a level of hesitance.

"You don't have to do that—"

"No, we want to," Sam interrupts her, genuineness in his tone. "We just need to run this by the others and we should be able to hop on board to help. We'd love to take on this case."

She pauses, still unsure, but eventually she gives a resolute nod. "Alright, yeah, I'd love that." And then she does another one-eighty whiplash, all bubbles and a basket of unicorns, and I'm seriously not awake enough for this. "Thank you guys so much," she gurgles and then bounds away. "And please thank Quinn for me too."

Ten seconds later, we're still frozen on the spot, trying to digest her out of our systems.

Sam turns to me, then.

"She's going to be a rather interesting addition to the team, don't you think?"

"Ditto to that."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 11.30am<strong>

**/Rachel Berry**

I'm halfway out of the lecture hall when I feel someone tapping on my shoulder. Spinning around, I'm met with a giddy-looking Brittany, all teeth and smiles and glowing with giggles.

"Hi, Brittany," I greet her pleasantly, hugging the binders closer to my chest in case she decides to establish some uncomfortably close proximity. "How can I help you today?"

"I'm not sure if you've heard about the good news, but it seems like we'll be seeing more of each other," she practically squeals, the unpleasant shrillness ringing in my ears. "Can you believe it?"

Resisting the urge to cringe, all that I have left to offer is a blank stare. "I'm not following."

"We're going to be teammates!"

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 2.55pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

Henri St. Pierre's office is an organized mess of books and papers and folders, and every bit the stereotypical Historian, but that can only mean good news. His dark oak desk is littered with documents and a complicated-looking magnifier of some sort, and drowning in his own work is the man himself, sitting on a well-worn leather chair.

"Mr. St. Pierre," I approach, extending a hand out for him to shake. "I'm Sam Evans, and you spoke to Mike Chang on the phone yesterday," I introduce, gesturing to my trusted team member as they exchange pleasantries. "Thank you for having this meeting with us today. I'm sure that you're an incredibly busy man."

"Please call me Henri," he says. "And it's my pleasure. I have to admit, Mike, when you called and explained your situation, I was really intrigued. I've heard plenty on the Roseanne House, a lot of speculations on it, but there never was anything concrete. It's a phantom house, and I've been searching for evidence my whole career trying to find it. You can only imagine how excited I was when I heard from you."

"Well, we're just glad that you can help us," Mike tells him, fishing out a thick black binder from his backpack and setting it in front of Henri. "Here's a log of our investigation. It has every detail—every paranormal occurrence, transcribes from our EVP sessions, evidence—and the physical documentations that we've found and have yet to figure out what they are."

He takes a moment to peruse through the first few pages, nodding at intervals, and making noises of approval at punctuated stops, and then he pauses at the old photograph that we had found inside the box.

"Where'd you get this?" he breathes, eyes still glued to the picture.

Mike and I promptly exchange silent glances, and it's my call, really, if I'm planning to disclose everything about the mystery. Of course, we've left out certain discrepancies in the report—Quinn's abilities, my constant dreams, things that don't make us look like a bunch of crazy college kids—and if we're going to open one door, the rest would have to follow.

"It was in a box hidden in a tree in the property where Camden House is," I divulge, seeing no harm in telling him, considering the evidences that we've already attained anyway.

"But—but this is the Roseanne House," Henri says. "One forty-two is the address, until all accounts of it vanished after the flood of 1962. Roseanne Walters, the only daughter and heir to the cotton mill empire of Sid Walters, was reported to have drowned in that house, and that's the last of the articles found of the Roseanne House."

I'm deeply impressed. This dude definitely knows his stuff.

"Why didn't I think of it before?" he muses. "The Camden House was built on an unclaimed land where the Roseanne House had been. It never occurred to me what a coincidence that was, but of course, what the papers made of it was that there were illegal immigrants from the south until they were evicted, but—"

"What if we tell you that we have proof that those people were forced out of their own property," I inform him.

His gaze snaps up to meet mine before they narrow inquisitively. "How?"

Mike leans forward and begins flipping through the pages in the binder.

"We believe that we've found the deeds to the property."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 4.10pm<strong>

**/Mike Chang**

Sam and I watch at Henri rifles through a cupboard full of folders and articles and returns to his desk with a pile thick enough to rival an encyclopedia—if anyone still uses it in this technological era, that is. He drops the stack on top of everything else that's already on the desk, the dull thud echoing in the room, and then he's furiously flipping through the pages. It's like watching a mad scientist at work; this guy definitely loves his job, and he seems to already know what we're talking about.

"A-ha!" he cries out triumphantly, brandishing a yellowing piece of document before sliding it across the span of the table, setting it next to the deeds that we've found. "Right, so this one right here, is a copy of a record from the courthouse, addressed to one Mr. John Smith—this backdates way before Pocahontas, mind you—and back in the 1960s, there wasn't a standard format or layout of writing a deed, so in a way, it's rather tedious in terms of archiving them. So, John has a list of things that he'd like to procure in his deed, so there's this entire paragraph right here stating his property, his shares, his wealth, and so on and so forth, however, the one that you have with you only mentions the Roseanne House, but it's so unclear how big the size of the property actually belongs to Roseanne Walters." He runs an index finger over the faded hand-written words. "Right here; that can very well read seventeen or eleven, or even twelve. I can't tell at the moment, but that just means we need to head down to the city hall have a look at the property of Camden House and compare it to this figure. Anyway, that's not really important right now, because what really matters is this."

Henri shifts his finger down to the bottom of the page.

"Stamp of approval from the court of state, the signature of the governor and the secretary of state," he goes on. "Wilfred Mott and Jack Harkness. Although it's faded here, you can clearly see that the stamp is authentic. It says here, witness: Wayne Hunters. I wonder if he were of any connection to Roseanne Walters."

"I think we can answer that for you too," Sam tells him, turning a page in the binder. "This birth certificate right here, it's for a girl—Violet Hunters—and daughter to—"

"Roseanne Walters and Wayne Hunters," Henri finishes, utterly amazed at the discovery.

"Is that an authentic documentation?" I ask, gesturing towards the birth certificate.

Henri nods almost instantly. "It's as authentic as it can get, really. Typewritten with an authorized signature, I don't think this can be duplicated or forged—well, it's highly possible, but not for this, I'm sure, but I just have one question."

"Go on," Sam gestures for him to continue.

"What is this to you boys? Why the interest in this property?"

I turn to Sam just as he's inhaling a deep breath.

"It belongs to my family, and I think we'd like to have it back."

* * *

><p><strong>Tuesday, 6.45pm<strong>

**/Sam Evans**

After over two hours, Henri assures me that we indeed have a case worth exploring and fighting for. It's going to take months, possibly even a couple of years, to sort everything out and neaten the edges, but it's possible. Of course, it means that I'll have to break the news to mom and dad, and Aunt Penny, and I'm sure Quinn and the rest of the team are going to be ecstatic when they hear about it, but that can wait.

Right now, we have a scared little seven-year-old girl who needs our help.

Mike and I head back to the headquarters to see that the gang is already there. The lively chatter dies down the moment we enter and everybody stares expectantly, itching for updates.

"Well, it seems like we have a case against the Camdens," I announce, and then there are happy squeals and hoots and cheers, and Finn declaring that it's the perfect time to celebrate, but all I can really think of is my beautiful girlfriend coming up to me with that gorgeous smile and those striking hazel eyes and wrapping me up in a warm hug.

"Congratulations, Sam," she whispers in my ear.

I'm grinning like a damn idiot, and she smells so good, and before I can stop myself, I'm peppering kisses down the slope of her neck. "Couldn't have done it without you, Q."

She hums in reply, burying her nose in my shoulder, and I suppose we can probably stay this way forever, but then Mike gives me a slight nudge and I remember that there's still one more thing that I need to do. Quinn senses it—knows what it's about—and pulls away just as I loudly clear my throat for attention.

"We have one more piece of news," I begin. "Last night, Mike had a paranormal experience in his dorm room. He carried out an EVP session, and we found out that it was Elizabeth, the seven-year-old girl who follows Brittany around."

"Wait, what time was that?" Rachel interjects.

"It started at around nine forty-five," Mike answers her. "I heard some light tapping in my room; thought it was the wind, but it carried on for quite some time and it sounded as though someone wanted to get in." He demonstrates the pattern, the triple taps, against the surface of the desk. "Just like that, and it couldn't possibly be the wind. When I called out to it, the sound stopped, but then it would start up again, so I did an EVP session. The tapping sounds would then occur on command and when I played the recording back, I heard a giggle, and that's when I called Sam over."

"And of course, Quinn was conveniently there too, or you wouldn't have known it was Elizabeth," Rachel deadpans.

I shrug, not wanting to indulge in her nitpicking ways. "We were wondering why she was in Mike's room instead, and we found out that Elizabeth had wanted to play but Brittany hadn't been free, so Brittany told her to go find Mike because he's the friendliest member of the team."

Finn gives an indignant snort as he folds his arms across his chest.

"Very classy, Finn, really," Mike retorts.

"The only problem with that plan," I soldier on before things start to get a bit crazy. "Is that Mike can't see her. Another problem is that Elizabeth is not a free-roaming entity. She needs to be attached to somebody—Brittany—and I'm not getting into any details about it now but to cut the long story short, she lost her mom."

"But they're both on the other side," Tina points out. "They should be able to find each other."

I nod. "And that's where we come in. I'd like to help her; it's not healthy for Elizabeth to be here for too long."

"Okay, stop, stop," Rachel butts in again, not the least bit pleased with the proposition. "So is this what we do now? Hunt down lost entities and helping them solve their problems? We're technical paranormal investigators, not ghost whisperers."

"We help people, Rachel," I remind her, trying to come across as professional as possible. "We help people deal with the paranormal, however that is attained. Before, we were limited by equipment, looking at things in a scientific point of view, but right now, we can be so much more. Helping Brittany would bring us closer to understanding what have been eluding us all these years. We have a Psychic and an Empath, and with Brittany, we're able to build one more bridge into the paranormal world—it's possibly the best thing that a team could have. Just think about the people we can help and the mysteries we can solve."

"It actually sounds kind of cool," Finn remarks. "I mean, we're like detectives for the dead."

Rachel shoots a venomous glare his way.

"Rachel, what exactly are your concerns here?"

She huffs and tucks some stray strands of her hair behind her ear, the movement filled with frustration. "Is that what we're going to be like now? We'll just take in whoever's next with special abilities? Are we the X-men?"

Mike scrunches his nose together. "X-men? We're not mutants, Rach."

"That's not the point," she grumbles. "What I'm trying to bring across that you're all failing to comprehend is that—"

"You're worried that you're going to be an invalid in the group," Quinn says softly. "That you're not going to be important anymore. Is that it?"

Rachel freezes, then; her expression neutral. "I would appreciate it if you don't invade my personal thoughts."

"Actually, you're screaming them in my head," my girlfriend mumbles, shrinking back into me, and I suppose the negative vibe is making her uncomfortable.

"Listen, Rachel," I quickly intervene before the brunette spontaneously self-combusts with pent-up exasperation. "Everybody in this group is important, and we're not going to treat anybody differently. When we go into a paranormal investigation, it'll always be hard evidence first, logical thinking, debunking stuff; nothing's going to change. Quinn had been sitting in central command, and she does analysis like the rest of us, and I assure you, it'll be just the same when we assist Brittany with Elizabeth."

Her eyes narrow accusingly for a second. "You've already agreed to it, haven't you? Is this why she came up to me after class and shrieked into my ears to tell me that we're going to be teammates?"

I tilt my head in slight confusion. "She hasn't officially joined the team yet, Rachel. We just mentioned that we'd help her out; that's all. I don't know how she—"

"Oh, my God!"

In perfect unison, we whip our heads around towards the door just as Brittany S. Pierce skids into the room, breathless and positively radiant with energy.

"Miami!" she cries out in delight. "Elizabeth thinks that her mom is in Miami!"

Mike and I turn to each other, matching smiles on our faces.

"So, Rachel," I smirk. "Fancy a road trip to Miami?"

"I—but—what—I—"

Satisfied with her attempt at a coherent answer, I glance back around to meet Brittany's sparkling eyes.

"Welcome to Project Paranormal."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The end! That's it—all 50 chapters of it—and I've had a brilliant time writing this! It's so much fun and it explores so many amazing things that I wouldn't have been able to had it not been for this genre of writing! I've slipped in some Doctor Who in there, see if you can spot them :P So, from here on out, it's onward with The Housemate Agreement, and perhaps a few 4-parters along the way. A big thank you to everybody who's been there, constantly supporting me through 2 mad years! Love you guys so much! Cheers!

**OhHeyAl:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! Thank you so much for a wonderful words, and yes, I'm so excited to got back to writing THA! I hope you've had a great journey with this story! Hopefully I'll hear from you soon! Cheers!

**Samquinnchorddianna:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a nice, lengthy review! I really appreciate it! I hope you've had a great time following this mad journey into the paranormal and mysteries and Fabrevans! I can't wait to start up on THA again, and hopefully I'll hear from you again! Have a great Chinese New year to you too! Cheers!

**Pieceofcupcakes:** Hi, right back at you! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it, and yes, it's really bittersweet for me, ending this story too. I hope you've enjoyed the mad roller coaster ride into the paranormal and everything else with Fabrevans and the other characters! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the mystery aspect of the story, even though it creeps you out at times. I'm really flattered! Hope to hear from you again soon! Cheers!

**NileyOvergron:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a wonderful review! I really appreciate it! LOL! I'm already missing this story; it's bittersweet, really, after 2 years! I'm definitely going to continue writing as long as I possibly can! I'm glad you liked the bathroom scene in the previous chapter! I had fun writing that bit because it's so different from the other sex scenes in this story! Hope to hear from you soon! Cheers Raquel!

**RJRRAA:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and never failing to leave a review! I really appreciate it so much! You've been an incredible support to my stories and I still feel all warm inside whenever I receive an email and I see the 'sooooooooooooooooooooooo' and it makes me smile all the time! Yeah, I can't believe this is the end too; it's bittersweet! I'll be starting on THA again, so that's good news, right? Hope to hear from you soon! Cheers!

**Thegleekreader:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I reckon it must've been tough trying to keep up with 40 over chapters, and I'm flattered that you'd spend a week reading this story! I'm glad that you found the connection between Sam and Quinn adorable! Hope you've enjoyed the craziness that came along with this story! Cheers!

**FabrevansFTW:** Hi there! Thank you so much for reading and leaving a wonderful, lengthy review! I really appreciate it! I'm glad that you've enjoyed the craziness in the story and that in spite of the supernatural stuff, you still stuck on and continued reading :D I'm really flattered! Well, it works both ways, being a writer. Without readers who care, we won't have inspirations and motivations to write, so thank YOU for being a wonderful Fabrevans shipper! Cheers!

**Kera:** Hello there! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it! I'm glad you liked the previous update, with the date and the smutty bathroom scene! It was so much fun to write because it differs from the other Fabrevans scenes that I've written for this story. It's bittersweet ending this story, but now I'm able to move on to another story that I really love and focus on developing the best for it! Hope to hear from you soon! Cheers!


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